Not Your Autumn Moon, I Am The Night
by Basscop69
Summary: Historic Chuck/Blair - a sequel to 'Catch and Release'.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: if you haven't already, I would recommend reading the first part to this story, 'Catch and Release', so that this makes sense! Although I'm sure it's not too hard to follow if you haven't...**

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* * *

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Blair was half asleep when he left, moving instinctively towards the warmth as it eased away from her; she felt the heat of his chest, then, over hers, and the taste of his lips, hot hands sliding over her bare arms. She relaxed into the kiss with a soft, sleepy sigh of contentment, eyes fluttering closed again as his mouth moved over her jaw and cheek, lingering on her mouth one final time.

She was asleep again for his murmured _love you_, dark eyes drinking her in before the bedroom door closed in his exit.

When she woke up properly, it was to early morning sunlight streaming through the window, and a bowl of glistening strawberries with a large, sugar laced croissant on her bedside table. A tall glass of freshly squeezed orange juice - no pulp, just the way she liked it - was set next to the tray with a single note that read, _Morning, sunshine._

She grinned faintly, picking up the embossed C.B. card. Her fingers traced the curve of his writing as she plucked a strawberry from the bowl, sliding it into her mouth.

She'd been in New Haven for the past week, running an exhausting series of talks, parties and events at Yale. There were few enough females at the university that the presence of the Girls' Foundation had been somewhat of an honour; and Blair had been in her absolute element. If there was one thing she was good at - had always been good at - it was charming adults. The dusty professors had been impressed enough with her intelligence and sophistication that they'd soon got over her youth.

She'd always assumed that the type of girl who went to university was something of a freak; the odd females who ignored society around them to pour over books. Not that Blair didn't enjoy reading, but the most they'd achieve from all their efforts would be a position as a teacher. Or a librarian, if they were lucky. But she'd actually found herself enjoying the intellectual company. Most of them were sharp young women, and she couldn't help but be impressed. It was actually nice to have people (other than Chuck) who didn't look at her blankly if she dropped a literary reference. The girls were in need of polish, obviously. (Some of the things they wore...) But most of them had a determination that she could admire. They had ambition.

She'd enjoyed the week immensely, but it had been tiring. And what had made it all the more exhausting was the fact that it was seven days without Chuck. So it had been with equal parts regret and relief that the final event had finished early on Saturday evening, and she'd been able to go home.

Bass Industries had a function the same night - she'd already told Chuck she'd have to miss it. She'd known the party would probably be winding down by the time she arrived, but had decided to go to surprise him.

She'd found him masking with his usual skill just how blindingly drunk he was. Not that it had fooled her for a second.

His entire face had lit up when he'd seen her, through the haze of alcohol - and for that fleeting moment, he looked like a child, features softened and hazel eyes alight, despite the powerful frame, sharp suit and slicked hair. And even as she was rolling her eyes, she didn't think she'd ever loved him more. She'd slipped her arm under his - looking for all the world like his diminutive wife rather than the fierce little figure holding him up, and got him out of the party and into the nearest car.

"You're back," he'd breathed into her, burying his head into her hair.

"You're drunk," she'd answered him. "What happened, Bass?"

He'd kept insisting nothing, even as she'd pushed him into the bathtub and dunked cold water over his head, scrubbing and massaging his hair, pulling him out a nightshirt and letting him tug her into bed with him, arms circling her as she pushed him back onto the pillows. And then, snuggled on his chest, he'd murmured an apology into her curls.

"Baizen?" she'd asked, softly.

His lips had buried in her forehead. "Bart. Bass Industries. Fucking Italian stockbrokers," he'd mumbled. He wouldn't tell her just how awful his week had been; not that it would make a difference. He'd never need to tell her.

"You weren't meant to be back till tomorrow," he'd accused sleepily.

By which point he'd have washed and got his act together.

She'd just grinned and nestled in closer to his chest, feeling the exhaustion from both their bodies, pressed together, seep into the silk sheets.

"Go to sleep."

His hand had caught in the strands of her hair, eyes closing.

"How was Yale?"

She'd smiled to herself; he'd felt it, and it had made him smile too.

"When we have daughters," she'd whispered back, "That's where we're sending them."

He'd gazed down at her, in the dark, at the silhouette of her lashes, silence enveloping them as her breathing deepened.

"I love you, Blair Waldorf."

"Bass," she'd corrected drowsily. "Now sleep. I'm waking you up tomorrow."

And it was the first proper night's sleep they'd both had in a week, curled in each other's arms.

She'd kept her promise, too, and cheerily woken him the next morning - they may both have been tired, but _she_ wasn't hungover - with an unceremonious bounce on his chest, ignoring all his curses and dragging him to Lily's brunch. Sunday on the Upper East Side was not a day of rest.

Nonetheless, she was grateful now that Monday had granted her a slightly more languorous morning. Not poor Chuck, who at this point would already have finished his morning meetings - but anyway.

She rose from the bed, pulling a silk robe over her negligee. She was already forming a list of things she needed to do as she sipped her orange juice - the morning may have been lazy, but that was lazy by Blair Bass standards. She had plenty to accomplish before her lunch plans with Serena.

* * *

"So you see, sir, this is the problemo. If the figures continue in this way..."

Chuck's gaze flickered over the charts, confused scrawl disappearing over two pages in a mess of lines and figures. It hadn't taken long to work out Mr. Luccio's methods. Distraction. The man was all flowery sentences and rambling excuses and numbers that made no sense, when in actual fact he'd failed to complete a single task Chuck had asked of him.

The Luccios had worked for Bass Industries for years, but Bart had always dealt with the eldest brother. Clearly this one was a different case altogether. Had it been anyone else, Chuck would have sacked him weeks in advance.

"Cut to the chase," he interjected, almost a snap. Regarded the Italian man between narrowed eyes. "Can you do it or not?"

"Ah. Well, this is the-"

"No," Chuck sighed. "You can't." He rose to his feet, brushing his suit. He always seemed to think clearer when Blair was there. The weekend was all he'd needed to put things into perspective. He _should _have fired Luccio weeks ago. Fuck family diplomacy - enough was enough. He spared Luccio a glance. "I don't think we'll be needing your services any more."

Luccio's mouth opened in shock. Shock that rapidly turned to outrage. "What? The Luccios have always served the Basses! What you mean, you don't need my services? My brother-"

"You can tell your brother," Chuck sliced him off, smoothly, "That if he wants to carry on working with Bass Industries, he'd better send someone else."

And with that, he saw him out.

Carter watched the Italian storm down the corridor, muttering furiously to himself, with some amusement. His head slid round Chuck's door, smirk already in place.

"Firing Luccio, Bass?" he drawled. "How are you going to explain that one to daddy?"

Chuck made a point of ignoring him as he ripped the messy charts clean in two, dropping them into the waste. Baizen had been unbearable as of late. It had started last month, when Bart had given him an office on the same floor as Chuck. Three years of working with Bass Industries, and he'd climbed high. Like a little cockroach.

Chuck honestly couldn't see any reason for Bart putting them on the same floor, other than to torture him. His father had been distant and distracted for a while now. He was supposed to be back for the function Chuck had thrown on Saturday night - and the only explanation Chuck had got for his no-show was a brusque telegraph stating that he was tied up in Chicago. No apology, of course; not that Chuck had been expecting one.

Chuck knew better than to wait for Bart's constant approval by now. He'd actually just wanted to spend time with his father.

Which sounded stupider and more humiliating every time he thought about it. That was what had driven him to his first glass of scotch that night. Had Blair not turned up, he would've managed fine. He didn't drink himself to destruction; hadn't done for a long time now. He could've kept in control, outwardly, at least - and got himself home for a scotch-fueled sleep alone. He didn't _need_ her to take care of him.

(But warm relief had still flooded his veins when he'd seen her, when he'd held the only thing that felt like _home._ He wasn't home till she was. And maybe he didn't need her to take care of him, but she did. And he _wanted_ her to, more than anything, even if he'd never admit it in a thousand years.)

"Don't you have work to do?" Chuck answered now. He gave Carter a look of disdain. "Scurry along back to your office, there's a good boy."

"You do know Bart's back today, don't you?" Carted replied idly, ignoring him. "Or did daddy dearest forget to tell you?" He smirked again. "So you'll have plenty of time to explain to him how you just drove away our best accountants."

Chuck bit back a growl of resentment. Of course he didn't know Bart was back. How the hell did Baizen even know? Still, his face was a carefully controlled mask of scorn. "Get back in your hole, Baizen. You're boring, and I have things to do."

He turned his back on him, dismissing him.

"I'm sure playing dress up in daddy's office is exhausting," Carter sneered back. He'd thrown it at Chuck enough times; and even as Chuck ignored it, it didn't stop the sting. Because sometimes, for all his achievements, that was exactly what he felt like he was doing. Playing an adult. "Have fun doing damage control," was Carter's last dig; and then he finally left.

Glowering, Chuck tossed Luccio's business card on top of his ripped charts. Even if the biggest obstacle was believing it himself, he knew he'd made the right decision.

* * *

It was still unseasonably warm for September, and Blair was relieved to get out of the glare of the streets and into the coolness of Depardieu's restaurant. She smoothed the cream ruffles of her dress, handing her elegant hat to the maitre d' and sliding off white gloves as she searched for Serena. Their table was waiting already.

But she stopped in surprise as she spotted the familiar blonde head, surrounded by a group of figures she already recognised.

She approached. "Serena."

They turned to look at her, temporarily distracted; and Blair had that unsettling sense that she'd just interrupted a nice conversation.

"Blair!" Serena moved to embrace her instantly. Blair hugged her back, though with an edge of restraint, still aware of the others.

"I thought the plan was lunch for two?" she asked pleasantly. Her tone was light, eyes sliding between them.

"Of course it is," Serena assured her with a grin. "Sorry, B. I was just saying bye to the girls."

"We're going now," a voice chimed in, hastily.

Blair turned her cool gaze on the other blonde who had spoken. Jenny managed a smile back, pulling at her pale ringlets self-consciously. "I love your sash," she added, drinking in the red silk around her waist. Blair, for her part, noted the pink around hers. The sash wearing was definitely a new trait Jenny had picked up.

Blair faked a smile back. "So...what were all of you doing? Together?" She tried to keep her voice airy, she really did. Eyes moving over Kati and Iz. Since when did Serena spend time with them? She'd been practically a recluse for the past two years; she'd said she wanted to keep a low profile - as low as one could, on the Upper East Side - and Blair had eventually believed that she did.

So why did this...rankle her, quite so much? Why should she even care that Kati and Iz were flanking the tall blonde?

"We were shopping," Serena responded happily; and Blair tried to ignore the kick in her stomach. Shopping?

Serena noticed, then, that her smile didn't quite meet her eyes. She gave her best friend a nudge. "For Dan," she added pointedly. "It's his birthday next week - I asked Jenny to come." Still trying to appease her - "I guessed you'd rather enjoy your morning than help me pick out a present for him?"

Blair remembered how to smile properly. And she did relax, a little. Serena had a point. "Right. Of course."

That didn't quite explain Kati and Iz, though.

"Jenny invited the others," Serena clarified.

"Oh."

Jenny cleared her throat, nervously. "Well, I'd better go..." She dipped her head at Blair. "It was really nice seeing you, Blair. I hope you enjoy your lunch."

"See you later, Serena," Kati added. Iz smiled at her, and then the three of them left, Jenny's gaze flickering one final time back to Blair.

Serena tucked her arm into Blair's with a bright beam. "So, shall we sit?"

Blair swallowed back the unpleasant taste in her mouth. Serena was her best friend. _Serena was her best friend_. "Let's."

* * *

"I think the numbers are all in place." Chuck glanced over at Eric, who was still flicking through the leaf of papers carefully. He flashed his big brother a grin. "As far as I can tell, anyway." Eric was studying finance in one of the big Manhattan business schools; Chuck already knew that he was top of his class, and it was no surprise.

He exhaled. He'd thought as much. "You realise you're doing a better job than an actual stockbroker, van der Woodsen?" he asked wryly, shaking his head.

One of the (possibly most unexpected) benefits of Lily and Bart's marriage had been Chuck's sudden acquisition of a little brother. He'd never known Eric van der Woodsen all that well before, other than as Serena's sibling. It should still have been strange, acquiring him as his own sibling - but what was stranger was how easy it was. How much he genuinely loved having a little brother - and not just a little brother, but Eric. He was a pretty great kid. More than a kid, though - he was probably Chuck's closest friend.

It still amazed Chuck that he had anyone who could look _up_ to him. And Eric's life hadn't exactly been easy, coping with the two van der Woodsen women.

It was even better that Eric's school was only a block away from Bass Industries; it made his lunch breaks far more enjoyable.

Eric just laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment. Even if you are comparing me to Giovani Luccio." He'd discovered Luccio's charts in the trash, and had been torn between laughter and genuine bewilderment at the state of them. "How did he even pass his accountancy exams?"

"His brother probably sat them for him," Chuck replied darkly.

Eric laughed again as the clock chimed one o'clock. He pulled a face.

"I'd better go. A lecture on fiscal finance awaits."

"Sounds...thrilling," Chuck mused.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Oh, it is." He got to his feet, handing Chuck back the papers. "And before I forget - apparently we're having dinner tonight. Mother's pulling out all the stops."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Bart's back."

"Well, that explains it," Eric reflected. He picked up his satchel, glancing at Chuck a final time. "See you at eight?"

"We'll be there." His lip curled a little, waving his brother off. "Have a riveting lecture, van der Woodsen."

* * *

"So, how's Faith?"

Blair sipped her crushed lemon, lifting her brow at her best friend. She couldn't stop her face softening, ever so slightly, unconsciously. She'd always thought it would be hard. But it was far harder for anyone _not_ to love the little girl. And if those wide blue eyes ever hurt, there was something about her little laugh and messy blonde hair that would always bring Blair back to Serena as a child. The little girl Blair Waldorf had fallen in love with, aged exactly four. How could she not love that again?

"She's great," Serena enthused. "She did a painting yesterday, actually." She gave the smaller brunette a grin. "Of her aunty Blair. Her teacher asked her to draw her best friend."

Blair rolled her eyes. "Oh, God. In that case I hope she hasn't inherited your artistic talent. Or I don't think I want to see it." She couldn't hide the glow of pleasure, though, or the quiet smile.

Serena pouted. "You told me you loved the painting I did."

"I was nice then," Blair sighed. "Fortunately I've since seen the error of my ways." She directed Serena a sweet smile as the other girl rolled her eyes, amused.

"What about Chuck?"

"Oh, he agrees with me. Being nice is a waste of time. Actually," she reflected, tilting her head with a slightly wicked grin, "He _definitely_ prefers it when I'm not nice. Being bad really gets him-"

"Ugh, Blair!" Serena covered her ears with her hands in protest. "That is not something I want to hear!"

Blair just smirked. She knew they were in no danger of being overheard; the table was perfectly secluded, and it was worth it for the expression on Serena's face.

Serena shot her a half reproachful, half exasperated look. "I _meant_, how is he?"

Blair's eyes still sparkled a little, though there was a more serious hint as she pursed her lips. "He's fine," she sighed, picking at the cherry in her drink. There was nothing Serena could say or do about Bart, after all. "Though," she added sourly, "He'd be a lot better if he didn't have to deal with Baizen every day."

Serena shifted a little in her seat. It was something that was still a slight sore point between the two girls.

"Blair," she said softly; "He's not that bad."

Blair rolled her eyes in frustration. "Yes, he is."

"You don't know him-" Serena tried to protest.

"So you keep saying. But you still won't tell me how exactly it is that _you_ know him." She looked at her best friend challengingly; and, as ever, Serena's eyes slid away.

"I...don't." Serena never have been a convincing liar. "I just..."

"Carter Baizen is bad news, Serena," Blair insisted. "There is nothing redeeming about him."

Serena sighed, vexed. "You know, I'm sure plenty of people have said the same thing about Chuck. About you, in fact." Blair's nostrils flared dangerously, eyes widening - but Serena cut her off. "And they're wrong. All of them," she stressed. "So why won't you even consider the idea that the same thing might be true of Carter?"

"Because Chuck is nothing like Carter," Blair snapped. Perhaps there were superficial resemblances; but she knew Chuck, down to his core. In a way that she could never know Baizen.

Serena finally gave in, raising her hands in defense. "All right, all right." She gazed down at her best friend. "Look, I don't want to argue with you. It doesn't matter."

Blair knew perfectly well that Serena didn't believe that for a second - her mind was clearly made up about Carter, and nothing Blair could say would change it - but she didn't want to fight either. There was no point.

So she deflated too. "All right," she sighed. "Fine."

They exchanged wry half smiles. "Truce?"

"Truce."

Blair glanced at her watch, then, smile falling as she saw the time. "I have to go," she sighed. "I'm supposed to be meeting my mother for a dress fitting."

Serena made a face in sympathy. "I'll see you tonight?"

Blair hugged her, pressing her cheek to her shoulder. "Tonight," she promised.

* * *

Dan tucked the covers around Faith's sleeping form, pressing a final kiss to her forehead. She was already lost in slumber, golden hair tangled around her face. He'd adopted her officially upon marrying Serena - giving her a family name and the legitimacy the poor child deserved. He loved her like his own daughter, too.

But they didn't talk about her real father. In what Dan was gradually learning to be typical Rhodes fashion - Serena didn't want to. And Dan certainly didn't want to bring it up.

He knew, deep down, that a part of Serena would never stop loving Nathaniel Archibald. He just didn't really want to think about it. And he didn't need to - he could make her happy. As long as he could tell himself that, then the rest could be put to one side. And perhaps it wasn't the Humphrey way; but he'd given up fighting. Marriage to Serena wasn't easy. There were parts of her that he may have loved less than others; but he loved her, still, and he was determined to make it work. Who'd said marriage was easy, anyway?

He moved out of Faith's room and into their bedroom, where Serena was running a brush through her hair. She was running late, as ever.

"Is she asleep?"

"She is." Dan smiled, pulling her into his arms. "And how are you?"

Serena smiled back, lacing her arms around him. It was moments like these that made it all worth it; that radiant smile. "Very, very behind," she grinned. "And my mother will not be impressed if we're late." This was accompanied by an eye roll.

"So...how was your lunch with Blair?"

Serena was still smiling, though she went to slide out of his hold. "Mmm, great. You know. Lunch with Blair."

Dan tried to catch her hand. "And did you...talk to her?" he pressed.

"I..." Serena sighed. "I was going to. But I couldn't."

Dan looked at her, face instantly falling in disappointment. "Why not? Come on, Serena. You said you would."

"I _know_," Serena groaned. "And I really was going to. But there just wasn't the right time. And she was annoyed because Jenny and Kati and Iz were there..."

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked, frustrated. "Serena, you said we couldn't tell anyone till you'd told Blair. How much longer are you planning on waiting? Because I _want_ to tell people."

Serena caught his face, trying to soothe him. "I know, I know," she promised. "And we will. It's just hard."

"Why?" Dan snapped. "It's three words. Blair, I'm pregnant. If she was truly your best friend, she'd be happy for you."

Serena managed to overcome her irritation at the judgement in his voice. Because no matter how many times she explained it, he'd never understand Blair. Never understand her and Blair, more specifically.

"Dan," she attempted patiently, "It's not that simple. I told you. She and Chuck have been trying for a year now-"

"I know," he said between gritted teeth. "I know that. But I'm not talking about her and Chuck - I'm talking about us. Why don't I get to celebrate the fact that my wife is having my baby?"

"Just give me a bit longer," Serena pleaded, rather than answering the question. She pulled his face towards hers. "All right? I will tell her. I promise."

"Fine," Dan grumbled eventually. He never could win an argument with Serena.

She smiled, kissing him happily. "Good." She swept away from him to brush on a last bit of powder. "Right, I just need to get my things, and then we can go."

* * *

Blair was inspecting herself carefully in the mirror, clad in just her underwear. She ran a hand over the flat plane of her stomach. It was perverse, considering how hard she'd always worked to maintain its flatness. It wasn't that she was obsessed with having a child. Far from it. Part of it still terrified her.

But what terrified her far more was the possibility of never having one. The secret, deadly thought that she'd destroyed her chances once and for all. She'd kept herself occupied, distracted herself from noticing the months passing; each month another step closer to nothing, another step to build up the worry fermenting inside of her. And she'd succeeded in doing so, till today's dress fitting.

Her mother had remarked that she'd lost an inch around her waist. It wasn't even deliberate, either; Blair had been so busy running around that she hadn't even noticed.

The assistant dressmaker had chuckled, poking her waist fondly.

"You gals and your obsession with your figures. How you gonna bear a baby with them tiny hips, huh?"

She'd meant it as a joke, Blair knew. Nosy bitch. Blair had flushed, and Eleanor had glanced at her. Studied her daughter critically.

And, once she'd dismissed the dressmaker; "So, is there anything on that front to report, darling?"

Blair had stared at her for a second.

Eleanor had rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. Don't act the goat. I'm not a fool, Blair - you and Charles have been married almost two years. I certainly hope you wouldn't hide anything from your mother?"

Blair had bit down on her lip, forcing her voice to stay light. "No, mother. Nothing to report." A weak attempt at a laugh; "I'll let you know."

Possibly one of the most uncomfortable conversations she'd ever had with Eleanor.

She'd forced it out of her mind and managed to carry on the rest of the afternoon like nothing had happened. And, really, nothing _had_ happened. Just another stupid reminder.

She was happy. Happier than she'd been in so long.

She didn't need a child to complete her. Not when she had Chuck. (He was all she'd ever need). But that didn't make the idea that she'd never have one any less terrifying. Not to mention the fact that it was her role as a wife. How could she fail him that?

She didn't realise quite how hard her teeth were pressed into her lower lip till the heat of two familiar hands slid around her bare waist. So lost in thought that she actually jumped in surprise, breath catching as his dark eyes joined hers in her reflection.

She pressed her back against his chest, warmth through his shirt, letting her body mould into his as she shut her eyes in pleasure.

He kissed her neck, her arms curling back around around his, eyes still watching hers in the reflection.

"Mmm," he purred into her. "Looks like someone was waiting for me."

One hand slid down her thigh as the other caressed the bare skin of her stomach. He'd felt the tension in her shoulders; seen the look in her eyes before he'd come in. She wasn't ready to talk about it. Not yet. So he'd kiss all of the tension out of her if he had to.

"_S__omeone_ took a long time to get home."

There was something about the word home on her lips that still sent a thrill through him; she turned in his embrace to kiss him properly, hands threading through the back of his hair.

He squeezed her closer, whispering against her lips, the shell of her ear, "I promise you that will never, ever happen again."

She grinned into the kiss. "Miss me?" she murmured.

"Always."

Her hands tightened round his neck as she pressed her body closer; he pulled her back to the bed, dropping to the mattress and tugging her between his legs. His hands roamed her waist, holding her as she kissed him deeper.

"Well," she sighed, "I'm sure you can find some way to repay me..."

* * *

They both stood at the mirror; she, sliding in earrings as he fastened his cufflinks. They were dressed to perfection, his silver tie picked up in her dove grey dress, dark hair flawlessly swept back. He lifted her pearl necklace from the vanity and she turned obediently, lifting her hair up. His hands were smooth as they fastened it around her neck, slipping down to rest on the tops of her arms as he placed a soft kiss in her hair, inhaling its sweet scent as both of them regarded their reflections with a shared smile.

His eyes drank her in, silently.

She turned to smooth down his tie one final time, musky cologne mixing with the lighter fragrance of her perfume as her slender fingers ran the expanse of his chest. She could already feel the nerves inside him, even under the cool exterior he'd perfected. That alone would have told her Bart was back, even if he hadn't.

"Let's go, Bass."

She slid one hand into his, his fingers curling over hers, and they exited the penthouse together. Dinner with the van der Basses awaited.

* * *

**A/N Please read and review :) The story will pick up, I promise - I just felt we were in need of some C/B fluff. **

**Also, the title of this fic is from the Audioslave song 'I am the highway'. **


	2. Chapter 2

Blair and Chuck were seated side by side on the satin love seat, Blair's hand folded discretely into Chuck's lap, while Serena and Eric were draped comfortably on the lounger opposite. Dan sat on the edge, still ever so slightly awkward. He'd never been a huge fan of the Bass home. Lily's elegance and Bart's intimidation would never be comfortable, however much a part of the family he was supposed to be.

Eric was in the middle of a particularly amusing story about one of his lecturers when they heard the front door open. The sound was followed by the click of Lily's shoes as she moved from overseeing dinner arrangements and into the hall to greet her husband.

Blair felt Chuck sit up ever so slighty straighter; she exchanged a silent glance with him, releasing his hand so that he could follow Lily. Chuck pressed her fingers briefly before rising and brushing imaginary dust from his jacket.

He strode into the hall, where Bart and Lily were talking in low voices; but he came to a stop, because he could sense the tension even from the doorway.

"...Not a question, Bart. I mean it."

He remained very still, curious as to the rest of the conversation - but then Bart glanced up and saw him.

"Charles."

Chuck cleared his throat, a touch too hastily. "Father." He caught himself swiftly, though, moving forwards. "It's good to see you."

Bart nodded.

Chuck glanced at him. Then paused. Because in the light of the hall, there was something about his father that he didn't recognise. Bart's suit was immaculate as ever, still clean shaven and heavy browed. But he looked...tired. It took Chuck a moment to work out what it was. Bart Bass never looked tired. Chuck tried not to make it too obvious as he continued to stare; Bart's eyes seemed somehow duller. And if Chuck hadn't know any better, he would have said his father looked...well, less formidable. He didn't know how else to put it. He couldn't tell if it was that the man's shoulders weren't as erect as usual - but he seemed somehow smaller.

"Are you all right, father?" he asked, before he could stop himself. His forehead was still furrowed in confusion as he studied him.

Bart simply raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't I be?" He moved past Chuck, setting down his briefcase. "Dinner's ready." He was already leading the way to the dining room, flanked by Lily, with the expectation that Chuck would follow. "Let's eat, and then you can tell me how you've been getting along at work."

Chuck managed to swallow back a lump of dread - how did his father make that single phrase quite so ominous? - and moved after him to join the others. He pushed aside the flicker that something wasn't entirely right. Perhaps it had just been the lighting in the hall. And the fact that Bart had been traveling for most of the day. Perhaps Chuck had just never noticed before. People got tired, after all. And Bart Bass was a person - a human - even if Chuck occassionally forgot that.

* * *

"I saw the Girls' Foundation feature in the Times." Bart addressed his comment to Blair, tilting his wine glass. "I understand the trip to Yale went well?" There was genuine, almost fond, approval in his eyes as he regarded at his daughter in-law. He was impressed. Chuck couldn't quite contain his glow of pride, glancing at her with a smirk.

Blair grinned back. "It did," she demurred. Still with a quiet flush of pleasure, half embarrassed despite herself. "Thank you."

Chuck's hand brushed her thigh under the table, giving it a light squeeze. Her fingers twined in his, hidden, as she smiled into another sip of her drink.

"So how was Chicago?" she asked, instead.

"Business as usual," Bart answered drily. Chuck glanced at him; but there was no hint of anything else. His father's face was entirely closed off. "Serena, have you been to see that property yet?" The subject was finished, just like that.

Dan frowned.

The three of them - he, Serena, and Faith - were living at the moment in Brooklyn, above the small art gallery that he worked in with his father. The apartment wasn't luxurious by Upper East Side standards, of course; but it was affordable. And there was enough UES influence in it anyway. Clothes and furniture that Dan could certainly never have paid for on his salary had been gradually creeping in over the past two years, courtesy of the van der Woodsens. Lily always waved aside his protests, pointing out that it was the money Serena was entitled to. Had always been entitled to.

Just like the entire apartment in the building that the van der Basses owned, which Serena stayed in whenever she visited. Which had been more and more, of late.

Lily had wanted them to move in completely, but Dan had managed to put his foot down on that one - they needed their own home.

The property that Bart was talking about was another penthouse entirely. Situated exactly halfway between Chuck and Blair's building and the van der Basses. Linking them all nicely by just a couple of blocks. And far, far beyond anything Dan could ever afford.

"Well..." Serena paused, avoiding Dan's eye contact. "I have, and it's beautiful. But-"

"But we already have somewhere to live," Dan interrupted bluntly.

Chuck caught Blair's eye. They exchanged the faintest eye roll. Humphrey really did have the biggest chip on his shoulder; it was most tiring. Blair had no idea how Serena put up with it. She kept her tongue in her head, though, amusing herself by tracing Chuck's knuckles.

Lily gave a little sigh. She'd also heard enough of Dan's pride issues. "Of course you do. It's just that it would be so much more convenient if you lived here." She glanced at her daughter. "After all, you spend most of your time in Manhattan anyway."

Serena rolled her eyes; because if everyone else was sick of this argument, she most certainly was. To tell the truth, she would have been more than happy to move back. But Dan was so adamant about it. And she knew he wouldn't be able to pay for it himself - and exactly how strongly he felt about that.

"I've told you, mother. We can't afford anything here."

Chuck's grip on Blair's hand tightened as she silently pulled his fingers a little further into her lap, a little higher on her upper thigh. They both managed to keep straight faces - neither of them would be the first to crack - as his fingers inched in between her legs (and they could_ feel_ each other's smirk), and she retaliated by pressing her thighs closer together, trapping his hand further.

Lily cleared her throat delicately. "Well, that's not entirely true."

And at that, Dan bristled. What she meant was implicit. _He _couldn't afford anything. Serena and her family's old money could.

There was a pause, and then Serena looked a little guilty. Chuck and Blair watched, still playing their silent game; Chuck moved one finger, now, pressing so close that he could feel the outline of her underwear; and she sat perfectly still, nails pressing into the back of his hand.

Serena tried, in vain, to jump to Dan's defense - too late; "That's not fair, mother-"

"I'm sorry, Serena, but when was the last time that gallery sold a painting?"

Dan had had enough, at that point. "That gallery," he interjected, hotly, "Belongs to my father. I'm sorry that our property doesn't include half of Manhattan and enormous trust funds, but not all of us have everything handed to us on silver platters." He was dimly aware of how rude he was being - but he was _sick_ of this; sick of feeling inadequate and inconsequential every step of the way.

Chuck's eyes darkened a fraction. He didn't care for Humphrey's tone. Or the way he was speaking to Lily.

Before he could say anything, though, Serena had chimed in (irrelevantly, but with the sense that she should probably be defending her husband) "Besides, Dan's got his writing too."

There was a silence after that.

"And how many novels have you published, exactly?" Chuck drawled into the awkward pause.

Dan's face flushed, furious. Chuck intervening was _all _he needed. He didn't care how long they'd been - step brothers in-law? - he would never, ever like Chuck Bass. The man still treated him like a bit of dirt on the floor. As far as Dan was concerned, he was incapable of human feelings.

"This has nothing to do with you," he snapped.

"On the contrary," Chuck answered coolly. "That's my stepmother your talking to. About my sister. And you're in my father's home. All of which," he added, 'Is besides the point. The point, Humphrey, is that the answer to my question is none."

"I can provide for my family," Dan seethed. "And I will. We don't need your handouts."

At that, though, Blair arched an eyebrow. "It's not a handout," she corrected. "It's Serena's money." Because this, at least, Humphrey needed to be clear on. No one deprived her best friend of _anything_.

Dan ground his teeth. Of course, Serena's money. Serena's money. The only thing he ever _heard_ about was _Serena's money_. "I know that," he said, teeth still clenched. "I think everyone has made that abjectly clear. I'm fully aware that Serena has money. And I'm _aware_ that none of you think I'm good enough for her-"

Serena tried to make a little noise of protest, and even Lily frowned at that.

"No one has ever said that, Daniel," she pointed out firmly.

"I have," Chuck snorted.

Serena glared at him. "Ignore Chuck," she insisted. "Dan. You _know_ I don't think that." Tried to appease him as she glanced at Bart. "We don't need another home, all right? We can stay in Brooklyn."

Blair felt a flicker of irritation. She knew that Dan did love Serena, and that Serena loved him. But she didn't see why Serena should be made feel guilty the entire time for having money. Dan needed to get over himself. This chip really was getting too much. And she _knew_ Serena; she knew Serena secretly wanted to move back to Manhattan. The Upper East Side was her home. No one had a right to take that away from her.

"S," she said quietly. "Is that really what you want?"

Oh, great. So now she was trying to make Dan out to be the villain. "That's what she just said, isn't it?" he ground.

Blair ignored him. "Serena?"

Serena chewed on her lip, torn between her best friend and her husband. And the truth - something she was fairly unused to anyway. Blair _was_ right, but how was she supposed to tell Dan that?

"Look," Dan snapped. "Stop putting pressure on her, just because you want to live near your best friend." He pushed his hands angrily through his hair; "Believe it or not, the whole world doesn't have to pander to Blair Waldorf every second of every day."

Chuck's gaze narrowed on him - but Blair was already retorting, equally annoyed. "Oh, but we do have to pander to the Humphreys of the world?" Her tone was icy. "Grow up. No one here is going to spend their whole lives apologising because you're poor and we were born with money. Life isn't fair, Humphrey. Get over it."

"Fair?" Dan choked. He really was beside himself now; the words were spilling out without a floodgate. "You want to talk to me about fair? What isn't _fair_ is the fact that my wife has to feel guilty about getting pregnant, just because you can't!"

He realised too late that he'd gone too far; and Serena let out a little stifled gasp.

There was absolute silence.

And Blair - Blair looked like she'd been physically slapped.

"_Up." _It took Dan second to register that Chuck was suddenly behind him, grip like a vice on his arm. "Get out, now." Dan didn't think he'd ever heard that much venom. He stumbled to his feet, because the look on Chuck's face was positively murderous; but as Chuck went to push him to the door, he tried to fight back. Hold his ground.

"Wait," he struggled, trying to communicate with his wife, "Serena-"

Serena wasn't looking at him, though. All her attention was, desperately, on Blair, who was sitting very still.

Dan tried to yank his arm out of Chuck's. "Look, I'm sorry. But I'm not leaving w-"

Chuck actually shoved him then, cutting him off with another snarl of, "I said _leave_, now."

Dan went to push him back, still trying to get at Serena - and Chuck nearly lost it.

Luckily, Eric had jumped to his feet and grabbed his brother's sleeve. He pulled him back in an attempt to calm him down. "Leave it, Chuck."

"Will you just let me speak to Serena?" Dan insisted, trying to get past both of them now.

"If you don't get out of here right now," Chuck hissed, "I swear to you, Humphrey-"

"That's enough."

Bart's voice was sharp, silencing all of them.

"Daniel," he said flatly. "I'll have to ask you to leave." And, when he opened his mouth to protest - "Now."

Dan tried one final time to look at Serena, but she just shook her head at him, disgusted, before turning straight back to Blair. He felt Chuck give him another harsh nudge.

"You can wait outside with the rest of the trash," he said viciously. And, right in his ear, a barely audible growl; "If you _ever_ speak to my wife like that again-"

"I said enough, Charles."

Chuck's lip curled, glowering, as he watched Dan back off. The other man was still glaring back, but he had no choice other than to leave. Well, that had fucked everything up. Just great.

Chuck's gaze slid straight back to Blair.

She forced a smile, and it nearly killed him. She was aware that she really shouldn't have been on the brink of the tears. It was ridiculous. _And you can't. _She struggled, panicking a little, to keep the tears back - because they could _not_ see her like this; especially not Chuck - and she shouldn't have been, she really shouldn't have been.

And she couldn't stand it. The thought that they'd all know. They _knew_.

She dimly registered Chuck's hand sliding over her hers, clenched in her lap, his grip bringing her back.

Her eyes flickered to him; anywhere but at Serena - Serena who somehow _knew_, who'd told Dan so even Humphrey knew. She was terrified that she'd see _pity_ in her best friend's eyes. In every one at the table.

It wasn't pity in Chuck's eyes, though. His other hand shifted to the back of her chair, brushing her shoulders; and the actual look in his eyes calmed her down a little. She breathed out.

"Excuse me," she said faintly. She somehow got to her feet, still looking anywhere but at the others. She knew her leaving would just make everything ten times worse, but she needed to get out of there. Now. She honestly could not sit at that table with the overwhelming fear she might cry.

Chuck looked as though he were about to follow, but she shook her head in silent communication, forcing another shaky smile.

Serena had already stood up anyway, twisting her hands frantically, and moved after her. The blonde's eyes shot briefly to Chuck; he dipped his head, letting them go. It was between Serena and Blair. For now.

* * *

"Blair." Serena grabbed the smaller girl's shoulders as she tried to sit on chaise lounge, refusing to let her go. "Blair, I'm so sorry."

Blair let herself be tugged round; but she shook her head in bewilderment, staring at the blonde. "What? Why?"

Serena bit her lip, hard. "Because..."

Blair's eyes widened in realisation. She shook her head. "Serena." She smiled, still trying so hard not cry - but that wasn't the point. "This is good news," she said softly. "You should be celebrating." And then she felt even worse; she'd managed to suck the joy out of her best friend's pregnancy too. Without even trying. "Why didn't you just tell me?" she asked, voice catching a little.

"Because I didn't want to hurt you," Serena stressed. She was still clutching Blair's hands, holding tight.

Blair sniffed a little, trying not to sound more pathetic than she already did. But her voice was firm.

"Serena, I'm happy for you." She searched her best friend's eyes. "I mean that."

Blair was selfish, and maybe it did hurt - but the idea of holding Serena back, and knowing it for sure, was a hundred times worse. She _wanted _Serena to be happy.

And even she knew that her deep dark fear - that Serena took everything from her - could never apply to this.

(And Blair didn't deserve _this_, anyway. She didn't deserve it, the nasty voice whispered over and over. Not like Nate, not like the girls, not like her mother's approval - not like everything she worked for and Serena didn't. She didn't deserve _this_, and fate knew it.)

Serena stared at her; and Blair realised, strangely, that her own eyes were now dry while Serena's glistened with tears.

"B, it will happen for you. I _know_ it will. I swear." She hugged the brunette, tight, and Blair buried her face in Serena's shoulder like she agreed. But her eyes were still dry, and the dread was still set in her veins. "We'll have children together," Serena promised, stroking her hair.

Blair managed a small smile. "Yes."

Serena squeezed her shoulder, trying to get the other girl's smile to widen. "I can see us now, strolling down 10th avenue with matching perambulators..."

"Comparing sleepless nights," Blair added wryly.

_Don't deserve it, don't deserve it. _

Serena laughed. She regarded her best friend softly. "It will happen, Blair. You and Chuck deserve it."

_Chuck deserves it. You don't don't don't. _

"Honestly," Blair insisted, "It doesn't even matter. I don't think I'd have time for a baby at the moment anyway." She rolled her eyes; "I wasn't joking about the sleepless nights. And I don't know about you, but I quite like my figure the way it is at the moment."

This earned a chuckle. "I know, I should have learned the first time..." Serena shook her head, still smiling, and gave Blair a gentle nudge. "You'll be ready when it happens. And it will."

"I know," Blair lied, flawlessly. But she was serious when she added; "No more hiding things from me, van der Woodsen. I mean it. I'm you best friend." She raised an eyebrow reproachfully. "I expect to know everything."

"I promise," Serena reassured her. "No more secrets." They embraced, one final time; and then Serena broke apart with a sigh. "And now I have to go and sort my husband out."

Blair rolled her eyes. "The charming Humphrey. And to think, I actually helped you get together."

Serena elbowed her, playfully. "He's not so bad."

"Hmm." She glanced at her. "Serena," she added, more seriously, "Don't hold yourself back because of his stupid issues. I mean it." She gave her a pointed look. "I know you want to move back."

Serena shifted uneasily. "Dan's just so against it..."

"You were born Serena van der Woodsen," Blair stated firmly. "That doesn't change just because your last name does. It's _your _money."

"I know, I know," Serena sighed.

"So sort it out."

"I will," she promised. And Blair knew she had the best intentions, just as well as she knew it didn't mean her friend was any more likely to accomplish them. Still, she let it lie for now. Serena got to her feet, shaking her hair. "Coming?"

Blair smiled and gestured briefly to her eyes. (Which were still dry). "Just let me wash my face?"

Serena squeezed her hand and left.

Blair slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She waited till Serena's footsteps had fully receded before turning the tap on. Afterwards, she stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down her hair. And she felt relief, finally, aching. She'd managed to avoid pity. Anything but _pity._ She exhaled, allowing herself a proper smile, and went back out.

* * *

Chuck glanced up as she came back in, catching the small of her back as she sat down. He watched her, eyes flickering briefly to his in reassurance, before she took a large gulp of wine. She was more relaxed, now, as she leaned back against his arm.

She apologised neatly to Bart and Lily, who waved it aside; "I'm sorry for Daniel, Blair."

"Well, you can take the scum out of Brooklyn," Chuck muttered under his breath, fingers draped over Blair's upper arm, "But you can't take the Brooklyn out of scum."

Blair smiled faintly, fingers curling on his hand.

Chuck's arm tightened over her shoulders. He glanced at her again.

"Actually, if you don't mind - we should probably be getting back."

"Don't you want to stay for a drink?" Lily protested.

But Chuck refused, politely, claiming a headache. "I'm really sorry, Lily. Thank you for a lovely evening."

He rose to his feet, arm sliding firmly around Blair's waist, and guided her to the doorway.

"Just a moment, Charles," Bart called. He was watching his son coolly. "We haven't had our talk yet."

Chuck paused; but he glanced at Blair, and that made his mind up. "Can we save it till tomorrow?"

Bart's frown deepened. It hadn't been a question. "It won't take too long," he replied, tone effectively ending any argument. "You can send Blair down to wait in the car."

Chuck's jaw tightened a little. "Actually-"

Blair's small fingers caught his shoulder. "It's fine," she assured him. Gave him a quick smile, eyes holding his. "I'll wait with Arthur."

Serena was already pulling her coat on, anyway. "I'll go with you," she sighed. She didn't particularly want to go home and deal with Dan. Still, she linked arms with Blair.

Chuck released her, reluctantly. "See you in a bit," he murmured, hand lingering on her waist.

"You'll be fine," she breathed into his ear, for just him to hear; she gave him a final, comforting glance, and was gone.

Bart nodded for Chuck to join him in the lounge. Chuck followed, a tad impatiently. He'd been dreading the conversation anyway; but, more importantly, he needed to get back out to Blair.

"So." Bart sat on a recliner, regarding his son. "I stopped by the office on the way home. There was a telegraph from the Luccios." He lifted a smooth brow. "Can you explain to me why my accountants seem to think they've been fired?"

"Giovani Luccio is an idiot," Chuck responded shortly. "He failed to complete a single task. Eric has better accountancy skills than he does."

"And instead of politely contacting Antonio, you insulted Giovani and sent him packing?"

"Antonio shouldn't have sent him in the first place," Chuck retorted. "They're brothers. You're telling me Antonio doesn't know how useless he is, when I figured it out within a few hours?"

Bart's mouth was a rigid line. "And it didn't occur to you," he asked coldly, "To inform me of this decision before you did it?"

But Chuck's mouth was equally tight, shoulders tense. "It wasn't exactly easy to contact you," he pointed out archly. "Even your wife's letters were ignored."

There was a flash of displeasure in Bart's eyes.

"Watch your tone."

Chuck tried not to grind his teeth in frustration. What was Bart's problem? They'd actually been getting on reasonably well last year. But recently Chuck couldn't seem to do anything right. And he _wasn't_ screwing up. Admittedly, the days hadn't exactly been filled with success - but America had just gone to war, for God's sake. They were doing well just maintaining the same level of business.

And Chuck honestly couldn't understand what else he was supposed to do.

He didn't have time for this, anyway. He had to get back out to Blair.

"I'm sorry, father. My wife's waiting for me."

Bart narrowed his eyes. "When are you going to grow up, Charles?"

Chuck had risen to his feet; he stopped now, staring at his father in disbelief. "What?" But it wasn't disbelief - it was fear, too. That humiliating doubt. _Playing an adult. _

"You have a responsibility," Bart snapped, "To this company. And recently, I haven't seen one ounce of commitment from you."

Chuck felt a wall of silent anger building. "Recently?" he spat back. "_Recently_, you haven't even been here. I haven't seen you for three months. You can't accuse me of doing things when you're not here to see them." He faced his father, regarding him heatedly right back.

Bart's face blackened. "Don't you dare speak to me like that," he said, very quietly. His voice was like ice. He turned away from his son in disgust. "Fine, Charles. Go away. It's clearly pointless trying to discuss business with you."

Chuck stared at him, wrestling with hurt and fury, hands tensed at his sides.

"Fine," he snapped at last. He stalked out without a backwards glance.

Bart turned too late, watching him leave. He closed his eyes, silently, before sinking back down onto the recliner.

* * *

Blair was waiting for him in the car as promised. She moved to him instantly, brow knitting. "What happened?" Her brown eyes flickered over him anxiously as she reached for his hand.

"Just Bart being Bart." Chuck pushed it off, though - pushed aside the anger, because he had more important things to deal with. He glanced down at their interlinked hands as the car pulled away; glanced at her.

"Blair," he said, very quietly. Her eyes moved up to his, and she stilled a little. She saw the look in his eyes. Damn. He knew.

She straightened, going to back away; but he held her hand fast.

"I didn't-"

"Mean to?" He regarded her shrewdly, eyebrows arched.

"No." Her answer was vehement.

He continued to regard her, silent, till she finally gave in. Her eyes slid away.

He pulled her back to him. "Blair," he said again, more insistent. He struggled to convey it; struggled because it wasn't an idea either of them were particularly comfortable with. Chuck and Blair did not go by trivialities like _que sera, sera. _But in this case, he couldn't think of any other answer. "What will be will be," he attempted, firmly. Trying to get her to see. She couldn't _try_ any harder. And much as they both hated it - it wasn't up to her.

She glowered, as he'd expected. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes," he retorted. "You do." He caught her wrist, tugging her to him completely on the leather seats, so that she was practically between his legs with no escape. It was hard because on the one hand, he knew how loath she was to admit just how much she wanted a baby. She couldn't bear the thought of anyone knowing; she wouldn't even admit it to herself. Because of the fear, he knew. "One day," he whispered against her skin - a horse whisperer, taming her - "We will have children."

She stiffened. "Chuck," she tried to brush it off, "I don't-"

"Yes. You do."

She may not have been desperate for them right now, but she was desperate to know she at least had the chance. He knew. His thumbs traced the veins on her wrists, a secret pattern to soothe her. Bring her in.

"We're not going to stop trying," he vowed. He let a half smile curl at his lips; "And if that means sex every day, it's a price I'm willing to pay."

She rolled her eyes a little at that - almost a smile. Her eyes drank him in, the shadows of the moving streetlights shifting across their faces. Her teeth pressed into her lip.

"But what if we don't?" she whispered, at last. "What if it never happens?" She studied him, and there was so much fear in her eyes that his chest _hurt_. "Chuck," she mumbled. "What if I can't?"

He looked at her, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Then I have you." He was actually frowning.

Her eyes lowered. "But what kind of a wife-"

"Blair." His voice was almost a snap; but he stared at her because how_ could_ she think that? "I have you." He was almost harsh as he gripped her tighter, pulling her even closer. His mouth pressed into her curls, holding her fast. She closed her eyes, leaning her forehead against his shirt - till she finally relaxed, just breathing him in.

The lights blurred past as they drove on in silence, heartbeats pressed together under the purr of the engine.

They eventually reached their penthouse, and the car came to a stop. She looked up at him, slowly. Gave him a faint smile. Her hand brushed his hair, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Love you," she murmured into him.

He squeezed her back.

Then he went to open the car door, ready to help her out; but she stopped him, flattening her body against his.

He glanced up at her, mouth quirked. Her tiny arms pressed him back into the seat, preventing him from leaving, as her brown eyes held his. Determined.

"Now tell me exactly what happened with Bart."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a kiss. She bit his lip, too.

"No one's going anywhere till you tell me, Bass."

* * *

**A/N Thank you so much for your reviews - I'm so glad people are interested in a sequel :) And apologies that this is a bit more angsty - ****but it definitely won't all be baby drama, I promise. **


	3. Chapter 3

"You said _what_?"

Dan groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I know. I know. I'm an idiot."

Upon leaving the van der Basses, he'd decided to walk to clear his head. His veins were still coursing with anger, but a sense of regret had gradually set in the more he'd walked. Which was how he'd ended up at his sister's building. The Dalgaards lived several blocks away, but he'd needed the cool night air just to calm down.

Jenny was staring at him in incredulity now.

"Dan, that's just _mean_. Not to mention none of your business - didn't Serena tell you that in confidence?"

Secretly, she was equally as shocked to hear that Blair...Blair had a weakness. She'd spent so long in awe the Waldorf heiress that the idea of her suffering from something so - human - the idea of her hurting?

Dan dropped his head in his hold. "Yes."

Jenny could tell he was feeling guilty. "Well, you're lucky Blair didn't kill you."

"Blair wasn't so much the problem," Dan grumbled. "I'm lucky _Chuck_ didn't kill me."

Jenny just shook her head. Chuck Bass was still an enigma to her - and not one she was particularly keen to solve. Blair seemed to be the only person capable of taming him; something else Jenny held in awe.

She pretended she knew what she was doing around her husband. Like she was in control of Damien, and not the other way round. But they both knew it was a lie. For all her determination, she felt like a silly little girl most of the time. She'd forced herself to adapt to their world - pushed and studied and changed, so she could somehow play the same game they did. But it was so hard when the rules kept changing.

She had no idea how Blair did it. But she _wanted_, more than anything, to do it too. She'd watched Blair climb to the top. But Blair had done so with a grace that Jenny could never hope to possess. Everything about Blair was so perfect; so controlled, so put together. She seemed to have a limitless amount of energy - she worked, all the time. For everything.

And Jenny wanted it. She'd seen the natural magnetism Serena had; the way heads turned for the glowing blonde. But people _loved _Blair. Sure, plenty more hated her - but Jenny didn't have anyone who'd do _anything_ for her. Who adored each and every one of her flaws. Blair was the glue that held Serena and Chuck together. Even the people who hated Blair, hated her with absolute passion.

And as for the people Blair loved herself? They had to be the luckiest people alive.

Jenny wanted that love. That approval. All she could think was that if Blair accepted her, she'd finally be a part of that world.

She wanted to evoke emotions that strong in people. She was so sick of being little Jenny Humphrey from Brooklyn. Or Jenny Dalgaard, wife to the ambassador's son. She wanted to be _Jenny Humphrey_. The same way Blair was Blair Waldorf. Or even Blair Bass - the name carried just as much weight. Not like Jenny, who secretly, frequently wondered if marrying had stripped her of another layer of her individuality.

"Anyway, I can bet Serena isn't speaking to me now," Dan went on glumly.

Jenny rolled her eyes. She did despair of her brother at times. "Dan, stop feeling sorry for yourself. This is your own fault."

Dan looked up at that, indignant. "How is it _my_ fault?" What happened to moral support from his sister?

Jenny raised an eyebrow. "The judgement?" she said pointedly. "We've talked about this. You need to stop assuming everyone looks down on you just because you're from Brooklyn."

"But they do," Dan retorted.

She sighed impatiently. "Then don't give them a reason to. You know, try and _change_ that perception - instead of sulking and insulting everyone?"

Dan made a face. "You mean I should just let people walk all over me?"

"Dan," Jenny groaned. "Seriously, get off your high horse."

"You don't have to see Chuck Bass' smirking face everyday," Dan insisted. "He treats people like-"

"So hurting Blair is the solution to that?"

Dan fell silent. Jenny just looked at him, eyebrows raised.

"I'm an ass, aren't I?" he sighed at last.

Jenny grinned. "Yes."

"Thank you for that," he said drily.

Her grin didn't fade. "No problem." She gave her big brother an elbow. "What would you do without me?"

"Promise me, I'll find out one day?" he teased back. Jenny stuck her tongue out at him, and he smiled slightly. "I need to apologise."

"You might want to start with Serena," Jenny suggested. "I don't think you'll be too welcome in the Basses yet..."

Dan pulled another face. Of course - he'd have to wait till tomorrow, when Chuck was at work. He doubted he'd get within three feet of Blair otherwise. "Good point." He got to his feet; and, suddenly jumping on an idea, Jenny did too.

"If you're going tomorrow, I'll come with you."

Dan glanced at her in surprise. "To see Blair?"

"Yes," Jenny answered defensively. "Is there a problem with that?"

Dan raised his hands. "No problem. I just never realised the two of you were such good friends."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Can I come, or not?"

"Sure," Dan muttered, laying off teasing her. "I'll probably need the support."

* * *

Blair was stopped from her path to the bathroom by a hand, catching her waist and hauling her back into the sheets. She squirmed in protest, finding herself trapped to the heat of his body with one firm arm.

"And where are you going?" he growled, drowsily, into her ear.

"Get off me, Bass," she protested - even as her body was sinking into his, back arching in pleasure as his hand slid up her nightgown. "I have to get up," she insisted. "I need to finish preparations for the-"

He cut her off with a kiss, hungry mouth seeking hers. "You were saying?" he murmured vaguely, fingers tucking round her waist.

She tried to resist. She really did. "Chuck," she said firmly. "I have to go."

He pulled her back down, and she could feel his wicked grin into the crook of her neck, even through his sleepy haze. "Just five minutes..."

* * *

One hour and five minutes later, Blair pushed Chuck out of the door. He turned, though, catching her arm to give her a final kiss.

She groaned, all too aware of the clock striking seven. "This cannot happen again. Not on a weekday."

He just smirked, slicking back his hair. "You love sharing baths."

"When we have _time_ to," she complained. "I told you, I need to-"

"You read the prospectus and did your background checks on Mrs Sinclair yesterday," he cut her off, calmly. "You've already ordered in her favourite tea, and the front room is immaculate." He flashed her another smirk. "You don't need an hour to double check everything and work yourself into your Waldorf state. It's perfect." He stole another kiss, ignoring the start to her objections. "You'll do brilliantly," he murmured against her temple. "She'll be falling at your feet before nine."

Blair rolled her eyes. She wasn't about to admit that he may have been right, even if her shoulders _had_ relaxed. "This cannot happen again," she declared instead.

"Never," he promised, with a glint that told her he didn't mean it in the slightest. "See you at seven, beautiful." They were holding an event at Victrola in honour of one of the Bass Industry board members.

She caught his shoulder before he could go, fingers curling on his jacket.

"Don't let Bart get to you," she instructed, firmly, into his ear. Squeezed his arm. "I mean that Bass."

He smiled ruefully. Caught her waist one last time, and then went on his way.

* * *

Waldorf Designs was a brand created by Eleanor herself, and the producer of some of the most expensive fashions in Manhattan. The society matriarch was far from a seamstress, obviously - but she had transferred her sharp mind, money, and keen dress sense into the lucrative business. She didn't even need to pretend that her husband was the owner of the company; everyone knew she was the real figurehead, and no one dared question it.

She could wave her hand and brush it off as a simple feminine pastime - but the fact was, Waldorf Designs raked in almost as much money as Harold's law firm did. Ladies were more than happy to spend hundreds on the divine dresses she created - and, more than that, Waldorf Designs produced sumptuous interiors and exquisite furniture that only the very elite could afford.

An Eleanor Waldorf original; the phrase itself implied elegance, sophistication - and money.

The company had just acquired a new patron - the immensely wealthy George Harrison, who had demanded a showing of Eleanor's newest works. Eleanor herself, as a result, was arranging a lavish exhibition in which to showcase them. She had brought in some of the best photographers, painters and designers. Nothing was allowed to be below perfection.

Blair had agreed to meet Serena at her mother's penthouse - they usually got first look at the best of her designs, and she'd been looking forward to a morning of trying on dresses.

By the time she arrived, having seen Mrs Sinclair on her way, the Waldorf parlor was a bustle of dressmakers and Eleanor's barked orders. Blair noted with some surprise that Serena was already there - her best friend invariably ran late, after all.

She was sitting with Eleanor on the sofa, the two of them laughing over the rows of new materials.

"You always have such good style, Serena," Eleanor sighed as Blair drew closer. Neither of them noticed her presence till she cleared her throat. She felt stupid just for doing so.

"Good morning, mother."

Eleanor spared a brief glance. "Blair. You're a tad late, aren't you?"

Blair bit her lip, but Serena interjected hastily; "Oh, no, that's my fault - I'm actually early. For once!" She exchanged a charming grin with the woman, and Eleanor smiled back indulgently.

"Well, I'd better get back to work." She rose to her feet. "This exhibition isn't going to arrange itself." She turned to Serena one final time before she left. "Congratulations again, dear." Pressed the other girl's hand; "You and your mother must be so thrilled." And then she marched off, brushing past Blair to berate another designer.

Blair knew it wasn't deliberate. Her mother was stressed.

Serena, however, glanced at her best friend guiltily. "I'm sorry, B...Lily told her."

Blair smiled. "Don't be silly. You don't _need_ to hide anything - I told you, you should be celebrating!" Eleanor was stressed. That was the only reason she hadn't even looked at her daughter. Still smiling, determinedly, Blair turned to the rack of fabrics. "So, what are we going for first?"

* * *

Chuck headed straight for his father's office upon arriving at Bass Industries. He'd been planning on apologising to him - or, apologising in Chuck Bass terms. (Which meant showing up in the first place). He and Bart still hadn't quite got the hang of straightforward communication. And _sorry _wasn't exactly in Bart Bass' vocabulary. But Chuck wanted to show him his plans for their next venture; prove to him, at least, that he _was _committed.

But before he could knock on the oak-paneled door, it opened - to reveal Carter Baizen.

Chuck scowled. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Baizen simply smirked. "Just having a word with Bart." He nodded back at the older man. "Good morning, sir. And thank you."

He flashed Chuck another nasty smirk, and sauntered away.

Chuck ignored him, determinedly, and moved into the room. "What was all that about?" He tried to keep his voice light. Pleasant. Even managed a smile.

Bart barely glanced up from his papers.

"None of your concern."

Chuck _didn't_ grind his teeth. Evidently he wasn't yet forgiven. Still, he wasn't about to let that stop him. He _wasn't_ going to let his father get to him. He cleared his throat.

"I know we, uh, didn't really get to finish our talk yesterday," he started.

Bart still didn't look up. "Don't worry, you made your feelings quite clear."

Chuck bit back on his jaw, hard. "Father," he said quietly. "I can assure you that Bass Industries has my full commitment. You can count on me."

Bart just sighed. "Is that so?"

"Yes," Chuck pressed tightly. He moved closer, pulling out a dossier. "In fact, there was something I wanted to show you-"

"Charles," Bart sighed again. "I really don't have time for this. I'm up to my ears in meetings for the rest of this morning, and I need to prepare for them. So unless you have something concrete to show, I'll have to ask you to wait."

Chuck fell silent. And yet, he thought bitterly, he had plenty of time for _Carter Baizen. _

"All right," he bit. "I'm sorry for getting in the way."

Bart rubbed at his temples. "Lose the tone. I'm really not in the mood."

Chuck contained a snort, trying to control the hurt on his face. Replace it with indifference. "Fine. My apologies." His fingers bit into the paper. "I'll see you later, then."

Bart squeezed his eyes shut once the door had closed, giving his head a little shake. He straightened his suit, trying to pick up the papers and read them again. Finally, he snapped - "James? Get me a glass of water. Now."

And, as his assistant scurried to obey, he gripped the papers tighter, redoubling his efforts even as the numbers swam and his head pounded. _Damn it_. It was when he realised his hand was shaking that he stiffened. He dismissed James the second he appeared with the water, ordering him to put the glass on the desk as he kept his hand firmly out of sight. It was still shaking, out of control, even after the other man had left.

* * *

The plans moved forward as the morning wore on, with no time for even the briefest lull. At the moment Eleanor was in the middle of a heated discussion with one of her assistants.

"With all due respect, Mrs. Waldorf, the fact is that the mannequins don't do your clothes justice. They're impersonal - and, frankly, _dull_."

Eleanor sighed in impatience, already busy altering the room plan for one of the displays. "Well, I don't see what else can be done," she snapped.

"Models."

Eleanor glanced at the woman at that, frowning. "_Models_?" She shook her head. "No. Tacky. I'm not bringing in a group of cheap girls to strut around being photographed. Not in my designs."

"But it doesn't have to be tacky," Laurel insisted. "You've seen yourself how beautiful the shots can be. The clothes are meant to be worn by women - what better way to show them off?"

"The issue is not the photographs," Eleanor pointed out. "It's the type of girls who are willing to have them taken. Waldorf Designs does not employ _pinup models_." The very idea made her shudder.

But Laurel shook her head. "I'm not talking about pinups. If we had a girl of a certain class-"

"_Who_?" Eleanor asked, exasperated.

And, at that, Laurel smiled. Her gaze skimmed across the room. "A girl who represents the face of Waldorf Designs. Someone with poise, breeding..."

Eleanor followed her gaze, slowly; and the two women took in the same thing. Blair. Eleanor watched her thoughtfully - she was busy laughing with Serena, draping one of the silks over her as the other blonde giggled and twirled her round.

"Someone like my daughter."

"Exactly."

Eleanor tilted her head, calculating. "Well, she was the form for my first dress."

"She's exactly what we need," Laurel stressed. "Not only will she bring the designs to life, but she'll add that personal touch. And who better then Eleanor Waldorf's daughter to exude class?"

Eleanor pursed her lips. "Hm."

* * *

Serena had glanced up in time to see the two women regarding her best friend speculatively. She could tell from across the room that Eleanor had some kind of plan.

Blair was busy rifling through the chiffon, and was caught off guard when her mother spoke her name.

"I have a proposition for you, darling. How would you like to be the face of Waldorf Designs?"

Blair froze in confusion as she looked between her mother and assistant, uncertainly.

Serena was faster to react. A chance for her best friend to be the center of attention? "She'd love to," she answered swiftly.

Blair's head was spinning a little. "I...would?"

Eleanor clasped her arms. "I want you to model my clothes. For the Harrison exhibition." She waved a hand. "You'd have to pose for a few photographs that would be put up on display. There will probably be a feature in the Times, and Mr. Harrison is considering holding an auction." She arched an eyebrow. "Can I count on you?"

"Of course," Blair breathed instantly, still stunned. She could hardly believe her mother wanted _her _to represent her company. Eleanor was counting on _her_. She couldn't stop the grin from spreading across the face, blinding. Serena squealed in delight, squeezing her best friend's waist.

"This is amazing, B," she laughed. "You're going to be fantastic!"

* * *

Dan waited nervously in the Bass front room. He was half convinced that Chuck would arrive at any second and have him thrown out. He'd been there before, with Serena - and it wasn't any less intimidating now. The walls were paneled with blue silk, the floor highly polished; it was richer, somehow, than the blank elegance of the van der Bass home, the detail more intricate and overwhelming.

Jenny was gazing around in admiration, studying each detail. Fascinated. How did Blair manage to achieve this level of perfection? You could tell each colour, each piece of furniture down to the last accessory had been carefully thought out and exquisitely matched.

All of which was lost on Dan, who was still shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

He'd closed up the gallery for his late lunch break, passing Serena on the way, who had plans to take Faith to the park. She'd been pleased, at least. They had made up after last night, and Dan was hoping for smoother sailing.

Blair's Polish maid had given the siblings instructions to wait, stating that her mistress would be down shortly.

And, finally, Jenny heard the swish of silk skirts and light footsteps; and Blair appeared, eyebrows raised, to descend the sweeping staircase. "Dan," she said coolly. Then, taking in the blonde, "And Jenny." She reached them, hands folded in front of her. "To what do I owe this...pleasure?" Her dark eyes studied them, superior regardless of the height difference.

Dan cleared his throat. "Blair. I wanted to apologise."

"Did Serena send you?" she asked drily.

His mouth twitched. "Well, Serena told me bring a box of your favourite macaroons." He handed out the wrapped box, almost sheepishly; a peace offering. "But I need to apologise anyway."

Blair's lips pressed together, waiting for him to continue.

He sighed. "What I said last night...I was out of line. I didn't mean it. And I know I had no right even bringing it up." He paused a little, swallowing. "And if I hurt you, then I really am sorry." His eyes skimmed to Jenny as he bowed his head a little. "I'm an ass."

Blair rolled her eyes. "Please. You didn't hurt me, Humphrey." Just the right amount of causal scorn. She didn't give them time to think otherwise, either, adding - "But you're right." Her eyes narrowed. "You are an ass."

Jenny, to the side, couldn't quite keep back the faintest smile.

"More importantly," she went on, drawing herself upright, "Have you apologised to Serena?"

"Yes."

"Good," she sniffed. "Because she's really the one you owe an apology to. Blurting out things until she's ready to reveal them is very poor form, Humphrey. I hope it won't happen again?"

"No, Blair," he sighed.

"Then I accept you apology," she deigned. "On one condition."

Dan's brow lifted - since when did acceptance of apologies have _conditions_? Then again, this was Blair Waldorf. "All right," he said warily. "What?"

"I've heard about your issues with gifts. And I understand your birthday is coming up. All I ask," she pronounced, "Is that you refrain from your usual...to be frank, rudeness - and accept all of them graciously. Without complaint."

Dan blinked. Uncomprehending. "That's it?"

"That's it." She regarded him. "Do I have your word?"

"Yes, fine."

"And when I say no complaint, I mean it, Mr. Humphrey. Not one word. And if you could smile, it would be even better."

Dan raised his eyes heavenwards. Honestly, how bad did she think he was? "_Fine_," he repeated. "Smile. Got it." There was no use trying to defend himself.

"Good," Blair smirked. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood."

Which was exactly why Dan would hate to see her in a bad mood.

Her gaze shifted, finally, to the younger Humphrey. "And what is it that you wanted?" she enquired, appraising her.

Jenny flushed a little. "Oh, I just wanted to give Dan moral support..."

"That's the worst excuse I've ever heard," Blair stated wryly. Her eyes narrowed again. "Well?"

"I..." Jenny tucked a ringlet behind her ear. "I was actually wondering," she admitted, haltingly, "About the opening in the Girls' Foundation. I know you're looking for someone to fill a spot on the board, and..."

"And you thought I'd invite you?" Blair asked. Her tone was very calm. "An eighteen year-old from Brooklyn?" She seemed almost amused.

Dan huffed a little at that, but before he could protest, Blair added - silencing him with one glance - "The Girls' Foundation is one of the oldest and most prestigious societies on the Upper East Side. Unless you can trace your fortune back at least three generations, you don't stand a hope of even an interview." She gave Jenny a pointed look - even if Dan didn't know that, his sister most certainly did.

"I know," Jenny swallowed. "I just thought, since you're the chairwoman..."

Blair simply looked at her, and the other girl closed her mouth. "Even if I had the slightest inclination to consider you," Blair answered delicately; "It's not up to me. These decisions are voted on by the rest of the board."

"But you could change that," Jenny spoke up, finally. Her eyes gleamed with determination, meeting Blair's gaze properly for the first time. "You hold sway over all of them. If you wanted something, the others would follow you." She shook her head. "You're the youngest chairwoman they've ever had. If anyone can change the way they think, it's you."

Blair was silent for a moment. "Like I said," she answered, flatly, at last - "I'd have to have the inclination to do so."

Jenny managed to stand her ground. "Well, what if I gave you the inclination?"

"Proved yourself worthy?" Blair mused. "I suppose you could try. It would be...entertaining."

Despite the slight, Jenny smiled. She could feel Dan next to her, already missing the point entirely - but she knew when she was making ground with Blair Waldorf. "I won't let you down," she declared.

Blair merely pursed her lips. Behind the veil, though, her eyes were alight with interest. "We shall see." She smoothed her skirts. "Now, if you don't mind - I'm afraid I have things to do." Her gaze moved pointedly, politely to the door - and Jenny gave her a final, eager grin, before both she and her brother left.

Blair adjusted her appearance in the mirror once they'd gone, considering. The truth was that Jenny Dalgaard _would_ make an interesting project. So far she had yet to find a single lady who showed the potential she was looking for. Jenny was from Brooklyn, yes. But she was the first girl Blair had seen in while who looked like she might have what it took.

Interesting.

* * *

"Champagne for the lady?"

Blair shook her head at the serving boy, smoothing down a curl. The photographers were coming tomorrow morning, and she was certainly not risking anything that might make her look less than perfect. Besides which, she needed an early night.

Chuck caught her eye, raising a brow; but he simply smirked and tugged her a little closer, hand nestled on the small of her back. He could _feel_ the excitement radiating from her already, even as she was trying just as hard to keep it down.

"You know," he murmured for her to hear, "As your husband, I could object to the idea of other men photographing you."

She smiled sweetly, still in his hold as she waved at one of their guests. "And I'd ignore you."

He chuckled, and the breath against her skin still sent a light thrill down her spine. "Then again, I suppose I'd have pictures..." His fingers eased down her waist, burying in the back of her dress - and she lightly slapped his hand, unseen. They were in a room filled with people.

"The pictures will belong to Waldorf Designs."

She couldn't entirely keep back a grin, though.

"Mrs. Bass. A pleasure."

She glanced up to see Damien Dalgaard, smile in place as he offered his hand. She allowed him to kiss hers, eyes shifting over his suit. Chuck watched just as closely from her side. There was just something about Dalgaard that he didn't trust.

Jenny appeared, ankle dipping as ever. "Blair." Her eyes shone. "Your dress is...amazing."

It amused Chuck, watching girls fall over his wife. And watching Blair soak up the worship with a simple flick of her head.

"Mr. Bass." Damien offered his hand again, and Chuck took it, though he wasn't too keen on doing so. "Looks like this place is doing well for itself."

"Yes," Chuck replied briefly. His face remained impassive, still watching the other man.

Damien nodded, excusing himself. Slimy. That was the word.

And, speaking of slimy...Carter Baizen had just walked into the room. Chuck's lip curled against its own will. Why did Baizen have to come to all of these events? His presence alone ruined them. Chuck was half convinced he only came out of spite.

Carter approached with a lazy smirk.

"Bass."

His gaze rested briefly on Blair, returning to sneer at Chuck.

"Managed to lose any more of daddy's employees today?"

Chuck barely concealed an eye roll, arm tightening around Blair. "Forgive me," he snorted. "I was under the impression this party was for senior members only. What are you doing here?"

Carter's smirk broadened. "Haven't you heard?" He was positively gleeful now. "Although it's hardly surprising Bart didn't tell _you_."

"Tell us what?" Blair snapped. She'd had about enough of Baizen and his stupid games.

Carter's gleam glinted in triumph. "I've been promoted. You're looking at Bass Industries' newest junior partner."

Chuck narrowed his own eyes into slits. "I'm sorry?" he snarled. "_I'm_ the junior partner." It was a position he'd worked for himself; spent the past few years fighting to achieve. Long before Baizen had even joined the company.

Carter just shrugged, enjoying every minute of it. "Clearly Bart felt you were doing an inadequate job by yourself."

Blair opened her mouth, icy, to retort - but at that moment, Serena appeared, Dan in tow.

"Hey," she called out brightly, going to embrace Blair. She smiled at Baizen, entirely oblivious to the tension between them. "Carter, I haven't seen you in ages! How are you?"

Carter forced a smile back. Blair noticed that the gloating sneer had disappeared; he fell silent, instead. Eyes resting on her best friend.

"I'm well, thank you," he answered at last. His gaze flickered between the four of them, and he managed another, tight smile. "A pleasure, as always." He moved away with one final glance at Serena. Blair was the only one who saw it.

But, more pressingly, she could feel Chuck's rigid shoulders next to her. She caught his sleeve, fingers sliding around his arm. He was still seething; but, eventually, he collected himself.

"I'm going to get a drink," he muttered. Blair slipped her arm into his - throwing Serena a semi apologetic glance - and he pulled her away with him.

Except Dan, standing there awkwardly, was in the way of the bar. He looked at Chuck; the other man simply rolled his eyes and pushed past him, taking care to tug Blair away so that Humphrey was as far from her as possible. Blair pursed her lips at the Brooklynite; but, really, she didn't have the time or the inclination to feel sorry for him.

She had Chuck to sort.

* * *

Damien leaned idly against one of the tables, seemingly deep in conversation with another guest. This particular guest was a Mr. Johnson. His latest client.

"Actually, we spent the summer in the Hamptons..."

He slid his hand, easily, under the table, reaching for the envelope of money the other man was pushing him. His fingers curled around it, tucking it safely into his pocket.

"I hear the weather this time of year is beautiful."

Damien took out another package, wrapped carefully in silk. Still keeping his hand under the table, he eased it across. He could see Mr. Johnson feeling for it, checking.

"Quite."

He choked slightly as his arm was suddenly held in a vice-like grip, the packet pulled clean away.

"What," a voice growled menacingly into his ear, "Is this?"

Damien found himself faced with a pair of black eyes, incriminating package held aloft. Chuck's gaze flashed dangerously, fingers still digging into his arm.

"Using my club for your little narcotics business, Dalgaard?"

Damien cleared his throat, trying to pull his arm away. "Look, this is not what it looks like-"

"Don't even bother," Chuck cut him off. "You can leave, now. Or I'll have security escort you to the door." Two burly men were already advancing, signaled by their boss with one swift motion.

"Oh, look." Carter's drawl approached, temporarily stopping them. "Chuck Bass is trying to make a scene again."

Blair, watching from nearby, sent him a furious look. She tried to intervene, but Chuck got there first. Carter's input was the last thing he needed.

"Out," he snapped to Damien. "Now."

"Why don't you calm down, Chuckles?" Carter sighed.

Chuck rounded on him - and stopped, suddenly. "You're in on this." He stared at his rival in disbelief - and his voice was deadly now. Not that Carter paid it any heed.

"Excuse me?" he sneered. Bored. "What am I in on, exactly?"

Chuck approached him, Dalgaard temporarily forgotten. His doormen had already closed in on the weasel, anyway. Blair bit back on her tongue, watching Carter too - even if most of her attention was tensed on Chuck.

"You're trying to set me up," he hissed.

Carter just rolled his eyes. "Your paranoia really knows no bounds."

But he'd seen Damien and Carter associating before. And he knew it; he _knew _Baizen's apparent work ethic was too good to be true. When were they going to realise that Carter Baizen could never be trusted?

"You're working with this leech," he spat, "To bring drugs into my club, in the pathetic hope that it will make me look bad."

This earned him a snort. "I think you're managing that all by yourself. What kind of a club owner," Baizen scoffed, "Let's something like this escape his notice? Is it any wonder your father doesn't trust you?"

Blair had had enough. "Baizen," she said, icily. "Why don't you do us all a favour and leave with your drug associate?" Her expression, narrowed on the man, was sheer disgust.

Carter glared back at her. "Why don't you keep you bitch on a shorter leash, Bass?"

Chuck didn't know where it came from, the white hot wall of anger; but somehow he'd lunged between Blair and Baizen, and his fist had collided, furious, with Carter's face. Chuck _never _punched people. Not when he could employ people to do that for him. He remembered, too late, where he was -

"What's going on?"

Chuck closed his eyes. Great.

Bart Bass' voice was like steel as he took in the scene, eyes boring into his son.

"Well?"

There was pause, and then Chuck snapped, "Baizen and Dalgaard have been using Victrola to push drugs."

Carter's response was immediate - "That's a lie."

Before Chuck could retort, though, Bart had stated, flatly, "Back room, Charles. Now." His gaze skimmed Dalgaard, the package; "See this man out," he ordered the guards. Then he turned on his heel, heading straight for the back room.

Fists clenched, Chuck had no choice but to follow him.

Blair threw Carter a look of absolute loathing. "How could you?" she hissed, positively shaking with anger. "This is low, even for you."

"I had nothing to do with this, Blair." His face was expressionless, though his eyes burned.

She just scoffed. Gave him a final, furious glare, and flounced off after Chuck.

It was then that Carter realised he wasn't alone. He lifted his gaze, slowly, and met a pair of blue eyes, shining with anxiety; Serena was watching him, silently, from the side.

* * *

Chuck had managed to regain his composure by the time they reached the back room; he was still broiling with anger, but he knew any more outbursts of emotion would get him nowhere with Bart. He'd gone far enough already.

"Father," he said, immediately, rigidly; "I know I caused a scene, but-"

"But what?" Bart sighed. "I've had enough of this, Charles. You're a state. You've blown up twice in the past two days alone - and both times, in front of company." His brow furrowed. "Frankly, it's embarrassing. _What_ is the problem?"

Chuck swallowed.

The problem?

"You." It choked out of him, finally. Bitter and humiliating in his mouth. "You're never _here_. And even when you are, you may as well not be. I'm sick," he mumbled, tightly, "Of being the last one to know everything." His fists were still clenched, cheeks flushed with furious shame.

Chuck Bass had made it his life's mission to never be the last one in the know - he couldn't stand it, not understanding. Not knowing what was going on. And he _knew_ he'd never had a close relationship with his father. He wasn't expecting lunch dates and in depth discussions with the old man. But he'd thought, for some reason, that they'd reached an understanding. (Thanks to a certain brunette). And the thought that he'd imagined that understanding - that it was another of his delusions, in his head - was too shamefully crippling to even voice. The thought that he'd just been fooling himself, and Bart disdained of him just as much as he'd always feared.

There was a silence.

Bart pressed his mouth. "Charles," he said sharply, "I don't have_ time_ to fill you in on life's every little detail." And there it was - the weary scorn. It echoed in Chuck's ears, slicing them. "I have a company to run," he went on, cold. "And I need your support, not these petulant sulks every time you're not told something. What right do you have, exactly, to know all of by business?"

"But you'll tell Carter?" It was ripped out of Chuck before he could stop it. "You'll tell Carter, who tried to blackmail his way into a job just three years ago - Carter Baizen, the former gambling addict - before you tell your _son_?" His chest was constricted with hurt, and rage.

"That's enough." Bart's voice was harsh. He glowered down at the young man. "What I choose to tell people is none of your concern. Carter is a good worker, and he's proven himself to me. That's enough. So you'd better drop this petty squabble, and learn to get on with him."

"Or what?" Chuck challenged, painfully.

Bart narrowed his eyes. "Or you can think very carefully about your position in my company."

Chuck had only himself to blame, of course - he'd pushed Bart to say it. But that didn't mean it stung any less. His teeth pressed, savagely, into his lower lip, shoulders still clenched.

"Every time I think we're making progress," Bart sighed, "You find some new way to prove me wrong."

Chuck could only stare at him.

"Funny," he said, very quietly, at last, "So do you."

He left.

Bart breathed out, slowly, cursing with each second he counted. He flexed his hand; an action he'd been repeating all day, like it would somehow erase the memory of the uncontrollable tremors.

* * *

Chuck was leaning back on the bed, propped against the headboard, eyes closed. They opened as he heard the familiar step; watching, silently, the slender figure approach.

She sat down next to him on the bed, perched next to his outstretched legs. The mattress dipped ever so slightly with her warmth, and the scent of her perfume gently filled the space. Her brown eyes studied his in equal silence. Her fingers curled on his lap, and he played with her hand almost unconsciously.

She lifted a brow. He could see the worry underneath it; the understanding. "Do you want to talk?" she ventured softly, at last. She already knew the answer, really. "Or-?"

"No talking."

His voice was low.

He looked up at her, tugging her closer; and she complied, leaning in to wrap her arms around him. His mouth met hers with quiet desperation - and she could_ taste_ his sadness as she pressed herself against him, snuggling her body into his as he pulled her down.

* * *

Carter glanced up from the sofa in Victrola's private lounge, hearing a noise in the doorway.

Serena was standing there, almost guiltily, with an offered glass of scotch. She moved in closer - and, since he didn't protest, took the seat next to him, holding out the ice cold cup. She pressed the cool glass against his throbbing eye. He winced, but held still. Her touch was a little clumsy; but with that lopsided grace only Serena could pull off. And he wasn't complaining. Not when she was sitting so close.

"Thanks," he murmured, at last.

"Well," she sighed. "I'm sure this was the last way you wanted to end your evening."

"Getting punched?" he mused drily. "Not so much." But on a sofa with her, her hand still against his brow? He looked at her carefully. "What are you doing here, Serena?"

She chewed her lip. "I felt bad," she admitted. "I mean, far be it for me to claim responsibility for Chuck...but, he _is_ my brother, I suppose." Something she'd never let anyone else catch her saying.

Carter just regarded her in silence. "So shouldn't you be on his side?"

Serena paused. "Well..."

"I didn't have anything to do with those drugs," he insisted again. Tense. "I'm not that stupid."

"I know," Serena said hastily; then, lowering her voice - "I mean...I believe you."

Carter was silent again. "Really?"

She gave him a smile. "Really."

"Well," he reflected. "I suppose that's something. You don't think I'm a drug dealer."

"Carter," Serena struggled.

He just looked at her.

She let out a little sigh. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

He was still looking as he moved a little closer. "For what?" he murmured. Studying her.

"I-"

"Serena," he said, very quietly. They were within inches of each other, her hand still on his face. He gazed into her eyes; and he moved forwards, slowly, and pressed his mouth to hers.

He felt her eyes go wide - and for a moment, they were just kissing -

"Serena?"

Serena lurched away, springing back from Carter immediately - and Dan appeared just then.

He looked between his wife and Carter in confusion.

"Uh, are you ready to go?"

Serena hastily got to her feet, tearing her eyes away from Carter. "Yes, of course. Sorry, I was just checking Mr. Baizen was all right. Chuck hit him pretty hard."

Dan nodded, slowly - still looking a little uncertain. Serena swiftly distracted him, twining her arm in his. "Come on," she smiled. "I want to get back." She was already leaving, pushing Dan ahead. Her eyes flickered back to Carter one last time, filled with guilt, before she disappeared.

* * *

**A/N Thank you for all of your reviews! **

**Apologies for so many scenes that weren't C/B...next chapter will be far more them, I promise! And sorry for so much angst and sad sex. The story will be moving forwards as of now :) **


	4. Chapter 4

"Now, if you could just move your head to the left..."

Blair sat in the elaborate peach construction, hands clasped stiffly in her lap and back very straight. Her body had reacted, almost instinctive from years of conditioning, to all eyes upon her; she held herself as upright and as still as she possibly could. But she could tell it wasn't right. Somehow, it wasn't enough - she could _sense_ the photographer's dissatisfaction.

"Try to relax," he kept coaxing her; like that helped. She'd been nervous enough before they even started, and the more he said it, the more tense she felt. She wasn't getting it, and she hated not getting anything. Not excelling. Failing.

The worst part of all of it was that she didn't know _how_ to try any harder. She honestly couldn't do anything else, and it still wasn't enough. She was letting all of them down. And the mere idea of that made her panic even more.

The photographer working the camera could already tell that the vision of loveliness before him would never translate onto film; she was very, very beautiful and very, very stiff. It was almost unnatural. And part of him felt that it was a pity - he would have loved to sketch her. That sheer erectness of that posture would have been a challenge to capture; there was something about her icy veneer that intrigued him. But he had a job to do. Make the clothes look beautiful - not a character study.

"Just sit there, Miss Waldorf," he instructed her, moving away to change the lens.

Her mother had stressed that the pictures be published under her maiden name to strengthen the Waldorf connection, and she didn't know if it was the use of _Miss,_ but it was the first time that the name somehow made Blair feel less powerful. Like the name didn't fit her - or, rather, she didn't fit the name. Didn't fit the scheme, or the idea her mother was trying to convey. How _could_ she be the face of Waldorf designs?

Serena, who'd come to give Blair support, was watching with growing anxiety. She didn't think she'd ever felt worse for her best friend; it was so easy for her, watching, to see what the problem was, and she knew Blair simply couldn't. The worst part of all of it was that if Blair just _relaxed_ and stopped hiding behind that society veil for one second, she'd be perfect.

"This isn't working," she heard the photographer mutter to Laurel, and her heart clenched with discomfort. Blair, thankfully, was out of earshot.

"But she's beautiful," Laurel protested; "The clothes are exquisite on her."

"Have you seen the way she's sitting?" the photographer answered back in an undertone. "The whole point of using a model was to convey a sense of _life_. This is so rigid and dull, we may as well have dressed the mannequins."

Serena glanced at Blair, still sitting ever so straight - and that decided it for her. She slipped past the pair of them to hurry to her best friend's side, and threw herself onto the chair next to her, grabbing her hands.

"Blair," she smiled. "First, you look _amazing."_

Blair smiled back, stiffly, recognizing consolation when she saw it. "I know." But she still wasn't getting it, so did she?

"But maybe you should try, you know, relaxing."

"I'm _am _trying," Blair hissed back, aware that the panic was slipping out and into her voice. "He keeps saying that, and I'm _trying_."

Serena gripped her hands tighter, calming her. "I know," she soothed hastily. "I know. But maybe that's the problem?" Blair was getting so worked up that she could only glare back with furious confusion. What did she mean? Why didn't she _get _it?

So Serena caught the smaller girl's shoulders, twisting her round to a more comfortable angle.

"Remember when we used to dress up in your mother's clothes and play tea parties?"

Blair nodded, frantic for anything she understood.

"So...forget the photographer, and all the people here. You're with me - remember, you were always Lady Babbington? And I was Lady Peacock." She tossed her hair, putting on an affected voice; "And we had _dreadfully _busy lives. You ran the family estate, and I had fifteen great danes, and our servants were simply _useless_." She gestured expansively, and Blair couldn't help but grin a little.

Serena caught her hands tighter, grinning too, trying to make her laugh -

"And then those rapscallions Charles and Nathaniel came in, and sent teacups flying - and - oh!" Serena threw back her head in mock horror, pretending to fan her face, and Blair giggled, despite herself.

And Serena was so utterly focused on her best friend that she didn't even notice the photographer's attention had refocused on them; didn't notice him watching her, positioning the camera again.

Blair did, though - and the man finally, finally looked satisfied. And even that tiny part of her that knew it was because of Serena and not her begged for Serena to stay, so that look wouldn't go away.

* * *

"Damien."

Jenny hugged her arms round herself, trying to stand up to her husband. He was already distracted; busy wrapping up another package that she'd rather not have known the contents of. Jenny Humphrey had been brought up in a household of honesty, and the concept of secrets was still something slightly alien to her. Her father and brother left her out of things sometimes, but they'd never outright lied to her. She'd soon learned that was not the case with her husband.

"Were you...were you selling drugs last night? In Chuck's club?"

When she'd heard he'd been escorted out, she'd had no choice other than to leave after him. Humiliated. Damien hadn't even bothered waiting for her, either - she'd had to try and find a driver to take her home. Alone. Jenny may have been resourceful, but even she knew there was something very wrong with that situation. And, _God_ - she'd been thrown out of a Bass event. Did he have any idea how embarrassing that was for her? She only prayed Blair hadn't seen.

Damien sighed. "Jenny, I'm busy."

Jenny bit her lip, trying not to sulk. She wanted to be taken _seriously. _She would stand her ground.

"Were you selling narcotics?" she repeated, more insistent.

She got an eye roll of irritation in response.

"What if I was?"

She gaped. Staring at him in incredulity. "Wh- Damien! You can't _do _that!"

Damien finally looked at her, as one might when explaining something to a small child. "It's a source of income, Jenny. And the last thing you should be doing is complaining." He snorted. "Where else do you think all this comes from?" His tone was dismissive, patronising. "All your dresses and jewelry? Your little lunch dates? That ivory table you couldn't do without?"

"But," she struggled, flushing with a little shame - he was_ laughing_ at her, mocking her attempts to fit in - "You have money."

"Yes," he said slowly. Condescendingly. "And this gives me _more_ money."

"You can't do this," she insisted. "You got _caught -_ by Chuck Bass! Do you have any idea how humiliating-"

Damien rolled his eyes again, getting to his feet. Package slipped into his bag. "Jenny," he cut her off. "I have work. I'll see you this evening, all right?"

She tried to stop him, shaking with anger. "And by _work_, you mean selling illegal opium." Her eyes widened in realisation as she stared at him; "That's who all your _clients_ are, aren't they? The people you're selling to."

He sighed, even more annoyed. "Well done. Now, if you don't mind..."

And he left her, outraged, shutting the door in her face without a backwards glance. She stood on the spot, still rooted with anger and misery, feeling on the verge of tears at the unfairness of it all. He ignored her. If she'd needed confirmation before, she had it now - he didn't even _care._

_

* * *

_"What _is_ it?" Eleanor snapped in exasperation. She had a thousand things to do, and she really didn't have time to sit down with Laurel and the photographer, especially since it looked like there was another problem.

"We have a problem."

Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Well, I gathered that. What?"

Laurel exchanged a glance with the man. She'd known Eleanor a long time, and had been initially delighted when the powerful woman had asked for her assistance a few years ago. But running around after such a tyrant really was exhausting sometimes. Particularly given what she was about to say. She doubted her mistress would be particularly happy.

"It's about...the model."

"Blair?"

"She's useless," the photographer cut in. "With all due respect, madame - your daughter is beautiful, but she simply doesn't photograph well."

Eleanor's eyes narrowed at the young blond. Jack Dawson came highly recommended, but there was still the issue of his youth. "And you know this already? Even though you haven't seen any of these photographs?" The prints would take at least a day to develop, after all.

The photographer shook his head. "I don't need to," he said, flatly. He was a professional. "I can tell you now that she'll be unbearably stiff in all of them. You have no hope of making clothes look beautiful if the person wearing them doesn't look like she _feels _beautiful."

The Waldorf matriarch pursed her lips. "She's poised," she retorted, staring the man down. However much esteem he'd gained for his art, she could tell a member of the third class when she saw him. "Graceful. Everything Waldorf Designs represents."

"She is," Laurel agreed hastily. Trying to appease. "But what Mr. Dawson is trying to say is that it simply isn't conveyed onto the camera."

"Then perhaps it's the fault of the camera," Eleanor replied icily. Modern technology.

"Even if I were to paint her," the photographer was adamant; "It wouldn't translate. The subject needs to feel at ease, otherwise the art will never work."

Eleanor sighed in frustration. "Fine," she snapped. "So what am I supposed to do now?" She glared at both of them. Laurel had got her into this. "Hmm?"

There was another glance between the two of them.

"We actually had an idea for another model," Laurel began carefully. "Not your daughter, but a recognizable young lady nonetheless. And a family friend."

Eleanor lifted her brow expectantly.

Jack glanced at her. "That blonde girl..."

* * *

Serena and Blair were sitting on the velvet cushioned chairs of the Russian Tea Room, sipping tea from pure white cups. The room was filled with tinkling china and the low murmur of conversation, an elegant quartet playing in the corner.

Blair had completed the so-called preliminary shots, and would be returning the next morning for the actual photographs. She'd actually ended up enjoying herself - but only because of Serena. She wanted to put the discomfort of the rest of the day to the back of her mind; an awkward memory.

"I just don't know what Bart's thinking," she sighed as she placed her cup back down in its saucer. "It's like he's _trying_ to hurt Chuck. Why else would anyone make Carter Baizen junior partner?"

She half rolled her eyes as she said it, because she'd been preparing herself, mentally, for Serena's immediate protest - so when she got none, she looked up in surprise.

The blonde was very focused on her drink.

Blair's eyes narrowed. She knew guilt when she saw it. But what on earth would Serena be feeling guilty for?

"You're not defending the worm?" she asked, slowly. Brain already flicking through the possibilities. "What's this? Have you finally seen the light?"

Serena bit her lip. "What?" She was _definitely_ avoiding Blair's eye.

"Carter Baizen," Blair pushed. Her tone sharpened. "Why are you so interested in your Earl Grey, S?"

Serena looked, if possible, even more guilty.

"All right," she groaned finally. "All right, I know we promised no secrets. And you have no idea how this has been torturing me."

"_What_?" Blair studied her. "Did something happen between you and Baizen?"

Only Blair could have figured it out that quickly. Sometimes, her best friend's unparalleled intuition was a bane. But the truth was, Serena was _desperate _to tell someone. She simply didn't know what to do.

She squirmed in her seat, shifting her long legs. "Well..." She closed her eyes. "We, uh, we kissed." And, at Blair's horrified face - "I mean, he kissed me! Or..."

Blair continued to level her stare at her. "Which was it, Serena?" she demanded. "He kissed you, or you kissed him?"

Serena worried her lip. "He kissed me," she decided. "Definitely. I just...didn't really stop it." She groaned again - "I don't know what happened. I went to check he was all right after Chuck punched him, and then we were sitting on the sofa, and...God, then Dan walked in-"

"What?" Blair drew in a sharp breath. "Did he see you?"

"No," Serena was swift to assure her. "No, he has no idea. Or, I hope he doesn't. I think I managed to distract him."

She looked at her best friend helplessly, and Blair could only shake her head. What had Serena got herself into?

"_Carter Baizen,_ S?" It was somewhere between horror and despair. Serena had been doing so well. She'd finally got her life sorted out. And this confirmed Blair's fear - she hadn't, really. Serena was still Serena.

"He's _not_ that bad," Serena insisted, hopeless. "He..."

"He kissed you," Blair interrupted. Blunt. "He took advantage of a married woman." Lowered her voice a little, hissing pointedly, "A _pregnant _married woman. It's despicable."

"But I didn't stop him," Serena mumbled feebly. "Look, Blair, you don't know him like-"

"I know he can't be trusted," Blair cut her off. "And _why_ do you keep defending him?"

Serena just looked away again. "I don't."

Blair reached out and caught her hand, forcefully. "Serena. You _said_ no more secrets."

"Look," Serena begged - "Just trust me when I say I know him."

But Blair knew him too. And she knew, far better than Serena, the intensity of his feelings for her. That was what really worried her. A simple kiss in Serena's mind would not be that trivial for him. She'd never told Serena about Carter's letter. She knew Humphrey didn't want Serena to know, anyway - and that worked in her favour. Carter could not be trusted. Humphrey may have been an idiot at times, but he wasn't dangerous. She was protecting Serena. And that came first, always.

In some ways, it would have been easier had she known Serena meant nothing to Carter. The idea of him having feelings - God forbid, _loving_ her - was far more troubling.

"What am I going to do?" Serena sighed. She looked at Blair unhappily.

"A kiss means nothing," Blair answered, decisive. It wasn't entirely true, but it was necessary for Serena's safety. "You need to pretend it never happened - and, for God's sake, stay away from Baizen from now on."

"But-"

"No buts, Serena!" Blair cried. "You're married. End of story."

Serena deflated a little. "I know," she murmured at last. "And I love Dan. So much."

"So there's no point jeopardizing that," the brunette stressed.

"I shouldn't tell him, then?" Serena checked with some relief. That was the last thing she wanted to do, after all.

"It wouldn't achieve anything," Blair reflected. Careful. She was far from an advocate of honesty; it was hard, though, when she knew any attempt to lie to her own husband would fail within seconds. Chuck knew her far too well. A blessing and a curse. "Carter took advantage of you, but I think any attempt from Humphrey to defend your honour would only result in injury to himself."

Serena rolled her eyes, and Blair smirked, ever so slightly.

(Serena didn't correct her, though).

"But," she went on warningly, "I mean it when I say-"

"Serena!"

Blair stopped, turning round very slowly. Kati and Iz had just walked into the tea room, and were making a beeline straight for their table. Straight for Serena, rather.

"Serena," Kati beamed. "We heard the news - congratulations!"

Iz embraced her; "You must be so excited!"

Serena seemed slightly taken aback, but she grinned back nonetheless.

"Thank you." She paused, confused. "Who told you?"

"Jenny. She can't wait to be an aunt!"

Jenny. Blair wasn't sure why that irked her quite so much. She supposed it did have something to do with the girl - Dan was her brother, after all. But she couldn't shake off the irrational irritation that it was none of the Brooklynite's business. And to Blair's dismay, Kati and Iz were now calling the serving boy over to push another table next to theirs.

"Actually," she attempted, crisply, "Serena and I were having tea alone."

She gave them a look, too - reminding them exactly who she was. They were supposed to be obedient to her. So far, they'd barely even acknowledged her. The look and the tone put them back in their places, for a moment - they hesitated. Then they glanced at Serena.

And, dammit, Serena looked like she felt a little bad. Blair could already tell what she was about to say, before she'd even started on -

"Come on, Blair, I'm sure there's room..."

The brunette pressed her teeth together, forcing a smile. "Fine."

They were already sitting down, though - both flashing wide grins at Serena.

Great.

The worst thing about it all was that Serena wasn't even trying to undermine her authority. No, she was just being _nice. _

"So," Kati started, still with that bright smile. "How far along are you, Serena?"

"Serena, have you started thinking about names?"

"Do you want a boy or a girl, Serena?"

"Have you felt it kick yet, Serena?"

"Serena, what kind of nursery are you planning?"

"Have you had your clothes altered yet, Serena?"

"Serena, are you going to get a wet nurse?"

Serena Serena Serena answered their incessant questions happily, laughing and chattering away. Blair sipped her tea and tried not to feel like a bitter, jealous idiot. She was _happy_ for Serena. She was. And, deep down, she understood. Serena couldn't talk about these things with her. Blair couldn't relate. And maybe that was what was really getting to her - the fact that she didn't get to share this with her best friend.

"I know when I had Frederick, we had this wonderful midwife..."

"Oh, she was brilliant - we'll have to recommend you!"

Like everything else, Kati and Iz had even had their stupid babies together. Little Frederick and Annabel were barely weeks apart - their mothers were already planning their wedding.

Serena eventually seemed to remember that she'd actually been having tea with Blair before they'd come along, and pulled back to drag Blair into the conversation.

"So, but have you heard Blair's news?" She gave her best friend a nudge, sending her that damn smile that it was impossible to hate, even if Blair did half the time. And, ruining any suspense - "She's going to model her mother's clothes for Waldorf Designs!"

Kati and Iz looked a little confused. They always had been slow on the uptake. "Model? As in...?"

"She's going to be photographed," Serena gushed. "And there's going to be a feature in the Times. How amazing is that?"

Serena actually seemed more enthusiastic than Blair did.

Kati and Iz glanced at her. Finally. It was disgusting - since when did Blair have to _beg_ for their attention? They were so ridiculously easily distracted; and yes, she'd always known that. It didn't rankle any less.

"You're lucky," Kati sighed. "You still have the figure to pose in those dresses."

She and Iz smiled conspiratorially - "Though it's definitely worth it for the baby at the end." Their stupid simpering faces were making Blair feel decidedly nauseous.

And then they turned straight back to Serena. "But how do you do it? Look at you, your figure's still beautiful!" They sighed in unison, while Serena tried to brush off their compliments.

"You know," she attempted, eyes sliding back to Blair, "This must be the second time Blair's been in the Times in a week." Tried to nudge her again. "Isn't it, B?"

"I don't know how you have the time," Iz remarked; followed by Kati's titter - "Not having children will do that for you!"

They looked at her curiously. "So, are you planning on having a baby any time soon?"

Blair supposed that would teach her to be careful what she wished for. The last thing she wanted was their attention now. Still, she scoffed. "Certainly not. I'm far too busy."

"Well," Iz smirked, "You don't want to wait too long..."

The smirks on both their faces were wiped off by the single glare from Blair. They fell silent, chastised. That would teach them to step out of line again.

"Anyway." Serena, as ever, was automatically trying to smooth things over. Anything for an easy life. "Are you two going to the gala this weekend?"

Attention back to Serena, just like that. "Are you going, Serena?"

Blair swallowed the last of her tea and tried to pretend the bitter taste in her mouth was just its last dregs.

* * *

Chuck pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. He'd had to work through his lunch break to finish drawing up a contract before its deadline; because for some reason, he'd found it hard to focus. Despite his iron determination, he'd been in a sore mood all day. He had an ache in his temples that had started with Baizen's declaration that, as junior partner, he needed to see all of his paperwork - purely to annoy him, of course.

He told himself that was the reason for his bad mood, and not the fact that he hadn't spoken a single word - or even seen - his father since their argument.

So it was with relief, now, that he finished the heavy paperwork. At least that was one less thing pressing down on him. He was in need of a break - and he'd have missed his opportunity for lunch with his brother now.

Still, his mood could only get better from here.

He glanced up, pausing, at the knock on his door - _if it was fucking Baizen_ - but the handle turned before he could even answer. And then the start to his scowl disappeared, instantly. It wasn't Baizen.

Blair grinned at him as she closed the door behind her.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bass," she purred. No one would dare to question her presence in Bass Industries, even as a woman.

She moved straight across the room to his chair, arms twining around his neck as she leaned in between his legs to kiss him. He smirked against her, pulling her closer as his hands slid around her waist.

"And what are you doing here?"

"I was having tea with across the avenue with Serena...so I thought I'd come and say hello to my husband."

"Well hello," he murmured, reaching his head up to kiss her back. "And how's my favourite pin-up?"

She gave the back of his hair a little tug, sharp enough to make him wince. "I am _not_ a pin-up, Bass."

He was already grinning through his _ow, _though, grip tightening on her. She was so adorable when she was cross.

"The photographs went well, though? I don't have to hire a hit man to take out some drooling photographer?"

Blair rolled her eyes, forcing aside a secret prickle of embarrassment. She wasn't about to tell him that said photographer had been as far off from drooling as was humanly possible - wincing, more like. She could at least take comfort in the fact that Chuck would never have to see _that. _

"Am I interrupting anything?" she asked instead. "Did you get that contract finished?"

It didn't escape his notice, but he didn't comment. "I did," he smirked again. "In fact, you couldn't have timed your coming here more perfectly. I was just about to finish for lunch."

Her grin widened at that, and she bit her bottom lip as her hands slipped into his collar.

"Well," she sighed, "I've already eaten." She curled on his lap, contentedly, as his hands caught the backs of her thighs, running over the sleek chiffon of her dress to the warmth below.

"I could take you out to your favourite restaurant," he suggested slyly. He already knew the game they were playing.

She just grinned even more widely, catching his lip this time. Her slender fingers were already working at his tie.

"Or," she murmured into his mouth, "We could stay..."

He gave her a disapproving look that didn't quite conceal the delighted desire in his eyes.

"In my own office?" He pulled her down, firmer, into his lap. "For shame, Mrs. Bass."

But her mouth had already collided with his, kissing him hungrily as her fingernails raked through his hair - and he couldn't really pretend any more. He wanted her, there and then.

* * *

"I want to know, Bart, what you were doing in Chicago."

Lily raised an eyebrow, staring at her husband.

"Lily," Bart sighed. "Can we discuss this later? I'm leaving early tomorrow, and I need to finish these tonight." He gestured at the documents in front of him.

"No," Lily answered. "We cannot discuss this later. I want to know why you disappeared for three months. And I think," she added firmly, "That as your wife, I have a right to know." She folded her arms. "Are you having an affair?"

Bart closed his eyes, shaking his head. "What?"

"Have you," she enunciated, "Been seeing another woman? Is that what you were doing in Chicago?"

"_No," _he said tiredly. Was that seriously what she thought?

"Well I'm sorry, but I can't see any other explanation. You've been _ignoring_ you entire family - I hardly ever see you, and you're pushing Charles away-"

"Don't tell me how to parent my own son," Bart interjected harshly.

Lily stared at him; and he realised too late that he'd slipped. Lost control. He hadn't intended for that to sound quite so sharp. He didn't know why it had riled him quite so much either. (Because she was right).

"I'm sorry," he started quietly, stiffly - but Lily simply lifted her hands.

"No, I'm sorry." Her voice was cold. "Far be it from me to offer an opinion on _your _son."

"Lily-" he sighed.

"I'm going to bed." She moved away from him, shaking her head. "I'll leave you to you paperwork."

And so saying, she did.

Bart clenched his hands, forced to sink into his chair as another wave of weakness passed through him. He tightened his jaw and picked up the papers - but it was no good. He breathed out, slowly and heavily, before putting the papers away and heading to the guest room.

* * *

Eleanor straightened her skirt as she rapped, smartly, on Charles and Blair's front door. She was running on a tight schedule, and she needed to get this out of the way. The more quickly she did it, the less painful it would be.

Dorota let her in, surprised - "You're early. Miss Blair has just woken up. I thought she is meeting you there?"

Eleanor brushed the maid out of the way, setting her over-packed bag down. "Change of plan." She didn't have to explain herself to household staff, after all. "Fetch her, Dorota."

She waited, impatiently; and then Blair came hurrying down the staircase, rapidly tightening her robe around her. Her eyes were slightly wide as she came to a stop in front of her mother.

"Am I late? Did I get the time wrong?"

Blair was _never _late.

"No, darling," Eleanor answered breezily. "I'm afraid I have some bad news."

She tried not to notice the flicker of fear that had crossed her daughter's face.

Focused instead on keeping up the act. "Mr. Dawson has decided he wants to go in a different direction."

She did feel the briefest flickers of guilt as she saw her daughter try and fail to hold onto hope - but, she reminded herself, Blair would understand. She was only doing what was best. Eleanor's business had to come first. And anyway, it was only some silly modeling. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to be made a fool of.

"With the theme?" Blair was asking, still not entirely ready to give up.

Did she have to make it quite so hard?

"With the model," Eleanor stressed, delicately. And yes, her daughter's face had fallen now - but she'd make it up to her later. Take her out to tea, or something. "I'm sorry, darling. I'm sure you must be very disappointed-"

But Blair was already hastily shaking her head. "No, no, not at all. I didn't even want to do it in the first place."

Well, they both knew she was lying. But it was necessary. All right, Eleanor was an awful mother. She _would_ make it up to her.

"He just felt another model would be more appropriate. And to be honest, darling, posing for photographs isn't really _you_, is it?"

Blair was quick to agree, which somehow made Eleanor feel slightly worse - but, cruel to be kind. In all honesty, it shouldn't have mattered all that much to Blair anyway. She'd made her own mark on Manhattan - she didn't _need_ the position of face of Waldorf Designs. Technically she was a Bass now.

When Eleanor said it in her head, it was perfectly justified. Still, she couldn't quite conceal her relief when she left and didn't have to look at her daughter's wide brown eyes anymore. Serena was waiting for her in the car outside; she briskly informed the girl that Blair was running late, and would be joining them later.

"Dorota," Blair sighed once her mother was gone - "Could you send a message to Serena? Tell her not to bother going to my mother's." She pulled a wry face to mask any sense of disappointment. (She'd been right; despite Serena's help, she'd done nothing to impress the photographer. She'd known all along, really). "Apparently it took less than a day to figure out that I'm not cut out for a career in modeling."

It wasn't the modeling, as such, that she was sad about. Eleanor was right - posing for photographs wasn't for her. It was more the fact that she'd failed at something, despite her best efforts. And she'd let her mother down. That old fear that threatened to resurface - not enough.

But it didn't cripple her like it used to. She had her own role, after all. She knew exactly what she excelled in. And she _was_ enough for someone. For the person, really, who mattered above everyone else. A certain person whose cologne still lingered in the air from where he'd left less than half an hour ago, enveloping her.

It was then that she noticed the small leather book lying on the floor. Her mother's diary, she realised - it must have fallen out of her bag. Rolling her eyes, she picked it up. Looked like she'd be going to Eleanor's anyway.

She was just about to leave, having bathed and dressed, when the doorbell chimed again.

Frowning, she opened it herself - she had no doubt her mother would be having a fit right about now, and she really needed to get the diary back to her. Her displeasure deepened when she saw who it was.

Jenny.

"What do you want?" she sighed, gaze flickering over the pale blonde. "I'm on the way out."

Jenny smiled, nervously. "Oh, right. Sorry."

"Well?"

"I was just...wondering, if you'd had any more time to think about my application?"

Blair arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like I have time to discuss how desperate you are to join my Foundation?"

"But," Jenny struggled, "You said-"

"I said I would consider you," Blair snapped. "If started proving yourself. But I haven't seen any signs to suggest that." For Christ's sake, it had been a _day _since that conversation. She gave the other girl a look. "And smuggling drugs into my husband's nightclub is not the way to go about it."

Jenny's face fell. "But that wasn't me! Blair," she begged, "I didn't even know."

Blair shook her head in irritation, trying to sidestep the girl. "Fine. But I need to go. Do you mind?"

"Blair, you have to believe me."

"I don't _have_ to do anything," Blair snapped back. "Now get out of my way."

And, so saying, she swept past her without a backwards glance. Again, Jenny thought bitterly. The second person who just didn't have time for her. Another person to let her down. Blair had just been a complete bitch for no reason. It wasn't fair. Jenny hadn't done anything - all she was doing was trying to fit in. Didn't anybody understand that?

Why did they all _ignore _her?

* * *

Blair came to an abrupt stop as she took in the scene before her.

Serena, sitting on Eleanor's couch, wearing one of Eleanor's designs. And the photographer, who clearly loved her, positioning the camera from every angle. Serena was mid smile when she saw Blair; her face lit up even more, radiant in the spotlight.

"B-!" she started, and Blair could only stare.

_Serena _was the face of Waldorf Designs.

Her grip tightened around the diary. The photographer had wanted to 'use another model'? There was no way that Eleanor didn't know exactly which 'model' he'd wanted.

Serena seemed slightly confused by Blair's reaction. She jumped to her feet, hurrying over - Blair was already backing away.

"Blair? What's wrong?"

Was she _really _that oblivious? No, Blair spied a flicker of guilt.

"I see it didn't take too long to replace me," she answered coldly. "So did my mother ask you this morning, or was this the plan all along?"

Serena's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Replace you? What are you talking about?" She tried to catch her best friend's arm; "I'm here to _help_ you, remember?"

They'd moved out of ear shot now, into the corner of the room. Blair just shook her head in disbelief.

"Is that why you're in the dress _I_ was supposed to wear, posing for pictures _I_ was supposed to be in?"

Serena floundered, a little - "I was just waiting for you to come-"

But they'd both seen it. However much she claimed otherwise, Serena had an almost instinctive love for the spotlight. It wasn't even deliberate most of the time. Never had been. She was just the natural center of attention. And she may have been denying it now, but Blair had _seen_ how much she glowed when she was back in it. The natural order of things.

"And you just thought you'd have a few photographs taken while you waited?" she asked acidly.

"No, I-" Serena trailed off, realising her defense was weak. She frowned a little. "Blair," she said, frustrated, "Why would I try to take something I helped you get?"

Blair's eyes narrowed, slowly. "_You _helped me get?"

"You know what I mean." Serena was impatient. "Look, Blair, I've been bending over backwards to accommodate you-"

"Oh," Blair hissed, eyes widening in fury. "Well, I'm sorry. I hadn't realised you were wasting so much effort _accommodating _me. How nice of you. Far be it from me to hold you back, Serena. Truly - don't bother."

"Why don't you just admit what this is really about?" Serena's voice was equally strong as she pulled herself up to her full height. But Blair saw it. The flash of _pity. _"It's about the baby," she went on, softly. "Isn't it?"

If Blair had to hear one. more. word. about _babies - _

"No," she seethed. "No, it's not. Because contrary to popular opinion, I don't spend all my time fantasizing about a gurgling, screaming little lump."

A flicker of hurt crossed Serena's face, but Blair ignored it. Because this really wasn't about a baby.

"This is about _you_, Serena," Blair hissed - "And the fact that I'm so obviously getting in your way. I don't need you," she stressed, "To _accommodate_ me. I'm your best friend. I don't need your charity, or your sympathy. If you want the spotlight, at least be honest enough to take it."

Serena stared at her in disbelief. "What?"

"Stop trying to pretend you're not Serena van der Woodsen," Blair snapped.

At that moment, Eleanor appeared.

"Girls," she said tightly, "_What_ is going on?" Her smile was bared, fixed on her face for appearances. "Blair. What are you doing here?"

Blair gave her a withering look. "Returning this."

She pushed the leather book into her mother's hand. Another person might have felt guilty at that, but Eleanor refused to let it faze her.

"Well thank you, dear. But we need to get these photographs taken-"

"No," Serena said, abruptly. She tossed her hair. "I'm going home."

Eleanor's mouth dropped - but Serena ignored her, striding purposefully into the other room to change and leave. Nothing stopped Serena when she ran away.

"Well, that's just fantastic," Eleanor ranted. "What am I supposed to do now?" It took her a moment, and an icy silence, to remember her audience. She glanced at her daughter. "Blair," she sighed. "Don't look at me like that. Mr. Dawson wanted Serena. And I'm sorry, but I have to do what's best for this exhibition."

As apologies went, it was the closest Eleanor Waldorf usually got. Displacing the blame.

"And Serena is the answer to that?" Blair asked coolly. "She's better than your own daughter to pose as the face of Waldorf Designs?"

"She's an upstanding young lady," Eleanor retorted. "Married, with children - " Oh, Serena was _upstanding, _all right_. _Of course, Eleanor - who was so astute about everything else - would fail to notice that Serena's child looked nothing like her supposed father. As far as the rest of society knew, Serena had disappeared to marry Humphrey, and Faith was perfectly legitimate.

_Serena's_ scandal could be forgotten.

Not that Blair would ever say anything. Regardless of how angry she was with her best friend.

So she bit her tongue, as Eleanor went on -

"Not to mention that she photographs well." She gave Blair a pointed look. "And as my daughter, I expect you to understand."

Blair lifted her chin. "I understand, mother." The worst thing was that it still hurt, even if she shouldn't have been all that surprised. "But don't waste time justifying it when you couldn't even tell me to begin with." Eleanor _knew_ it had been a spiteful thing to do to her own daughter. "If you'll excuse me," she went on. Cold. "Now that I'm not wasting my time being photographed, I actually have a gala to organize."

* * *

Mr. Dawson was in the dark room, arranging the last of the photographs. It was late in the afternoon, but he was too absorbed in his task to notice. A furious Eleanor had finally informed him that they'd have to do the shoot with mannequins after all - he only had a couple of shots of the blonde girl, and she'd apparently stormed out before he could finish.

He studied the two prints, now, with those of the brunette already hanging up. The blonde definitely brought the photograph to life. She sold the image. But there was something about the brunette that interested him more. Perhaps it was something about the polished veneer - the distance hiding the vulnerability and fire underneath (yes, he'd eavesdropped on the two girls' argument) - that was painfully familiar...

"Mr. Dawson, is it?"

He turned in surprise, to see a dark haired young man in an expensive suit.

"Can I help you?"

The man wasn't really supposed to be here - but he didn't look like he'd let that stop him for a second. Jack took in the sharp, dark eyes and haughty cheekbones. There was something oddly reminiscent about that stare; it took him a second to realise it mirrored the brunette's in the photograph.

The man's gaze flickered to the prints, too.

"I want to purchase the Waldorf photographs." It was an idle demand rather than a question. He nodded at the prints - only the ones with the brunette, though. "Those ones."

Dawson looked at him curiously. "I don't know if I'm at liberty to sell them."

"The exhibition is being auctioned, is it not?"

The photographer tilted his head. "Yes. But we're not using these ones any more."

"I know," the man said, almost impatient. "But I'd like to purchase them nevertheless."

Dawson shrugged. "Well, I can give them to you for free." And he was so intrigued that he would. Besides, they were of no value to Eleanor - he wouldn't have felt right, charging someone who so clearly _did_ want them.

The man's eyes narrowed a little. "You're a professional, aren't you?" His voice was slightly sharp.

Dawson raised an eyebrow in response.

"Well then," the dark man frowned, "If you've done the job properly, I expect a fee."

Jack felt his mouth twitch. He lifted his hands in mock defense. "All right, all right." He hit upon an idea, then, glancing at the commanding young man. "If you really want to pay, you could give the money to the company." He shrugged; "I mean, since they were originally going to be auctioned anyway."

The man considered this for a moment, before giving a curt nod. "Very well." He'd already started writing the check before Jack could say anything, ripping it off to hand it over - and Jack did a slight double take when he saw the figure he'd written. The number of zeros. He opened his mouth to point out that there was no way his photographs were worth that much; but then he stopped, seeing the expression on the other man's face as he glanced down at the girl in those photographs.

His mouth had curled, faintly, and there was an expression in his eyes Jack hadn't seen before. It wasn't the smile of someone admiring a girl's beauty - because she _was _beautiful, and the picture showed that - it was the private smile of familiarity. Whoever this guy was, he clearly _loved _her. Stiffness and all. Maybe even because of the stiffness.

And that made Jack Dawson smile, faintly.

* * *

"Chuck?"

Blair slipped her shawl off her shoulders, removing her hat and gloves. She'd been out late with the Colony Club. Hosted, this time, by Ingrid Haversham - and she was feeling more than ready for bed.

That, or a massage from her husband.

She went to take off her overcoat, and a pair of hands stopped her, sliding it off for themselves. She grinned, turning in his hot embrace, and her lips fluttered over his. He drew her closer, stroking her waist.

"Chuck," she murmured, and there was a hint of warning in her voice now. She pushed on his chest, stretching to reach his shoulders as she studied him. "I was just speaking to Rosa Harrison." She lifted an eyebrow. "George Harrison's wife."

"The one who's commissioning your mother's exhibition?" he purred, like he didn't already know. His hands curled on her bare forearms, running up her skin - but she stopped him, firmly.

"She told me they've already made their biggest sale. An anonymous bidder. They don't think anything else will even come close."

"Really?" Chuck's smooth fingers ran up her back.

Blair's eyes narrowed further. "Really. And do you know what they sold?"

He smirked. "I'm sure I have no idea." His mouth slipped over hers, stopping her protests. "But I'm sure that whatever it is went to someone worthy." He gave another smirk. "The most worthy person, in fact."

She tried to glare at him - but he was looking at her so contentedly, hungrily, that she couldn't stay angry - even as she should have been feeling embarrassed. But she wasn't; Chuck had always had the magical ability of making her embarrassment dissipate in seconds. She was going to kill him, really. Basstard. Buying the photos she didn't ever want to see again.

(But she was still grinning just a little bit).

"Listen here, Bass," she admonished, trying to sound threatening -

But before he could kiss her again, they were interrupted by the door.

Chuck frowned, glancing at the clock. Surely it was too late for visitors? Sighing, reluctantly, he released his hold on Blair to answer it. He'd no sooner twisted the handle, though, then Lily had positively burst in.

Chuck and Blair both stared - they didn't think they'd ever seen the lady quite so discomposed.

And both of them got the sick twisting of dread, right in their stomachs, as they took in the wild look in her eyes. Fear. Instinctively, their hands slid into each other's.

"Lily? Are you all right?" Chuck fought to keep his voice even, still staring.

"Charles," Lily whispered. "It's Bart."

Chuck blinked; uncomprehending.

"He collapsed." Lily's eyes were glistening. "He's in hospital."

* * *

**A/N So this is definitely my longest chapter yet. Thank you very much for your reviews! **

**Also Jack Dawson does not belong to me; property of the Titanic. **


	5. Chapter 5

"We want to see him. _Now_."

Chuck's voice was harsh, his shoulders unbearably tight as faced down the orderly. Blair stood silently at his side, one arm still curled in his. Like that had done anything to ease his furious pacing.

"We've been waiting almost an hour," he spat. "This is ludicrous."

Lily sighed, her own face still white and drawn. "Charles," she attempted. She knew raging would get them nowhere. Eric gently took his mother's hand; she half squeezed it back, giving him a grateful look.

The orderly simply shook his head. "As I said, Mr. Bass - your father is being treated in the receiving room. He's not even conscious." And, when Chuck answered his mouth to retort - "Once he's moved to a private room, then you can see him."

Chuck let out another little snarl of anger, and Blair tightened her hold round his.

Bart had collapsed at the train station, and the station master, alerted by alarmed passengers, had had him brought to the nearest hospital. It hadn't taken them too long to identify him and get in touch with his next of kin. They'd gone straight there - only to be kept waiting in one of the side rooms. Chuck was trying to hang on to any semblance of control by lashing out, and it was doing nothing. It was the waiting - the not knowing_. _

He was terrified.

The only time he'd even been this scared was in the hold of a certain Olympic_._

And in some ways this was a different fear - because it was_ Bart_. The idea of his father being anything other than invincible was almost too hard to grasp. Chuck couldn't handle it; the thought of what might see. Bart, in hospital. Bart collapsing. He needed to know what he was dealing with - and, at the same time, the mere idea of it was enough to take all the strength out of his legs. An all-consuming, shameful dread. Terror.

The only thing keeping him upright was the small arm wrapped in his.

And if he moved enough, snapped enough - then maybe he could convince himself that he wasn't on the brink of losing it.

The door was sprung open, and there was an explosion of blonde hair - "Sorry, we had to take Faith to Rufus, and then the bridge was - where is he? What's going on?"

Chuck spared his stepsister the briefest of glances, barely registering the Humphrey standing awkwardly at her side.

"We have to wait," he answered, curtly, blankly, before going back to pacing. Blair's gaze flickered, too, to her best friend - any earlier arguments forgotten - but her attention was focused solely on Chuck now.

Lily held out her arms, gesturing for her daughter to sit beside her. Serena slid down on her other side, worried eyes sliding to Eric. She took her mother's other hand, embracing her for a moment; Lily explained, in a low voice, what was going on.

Dan swallowed - there were only three chairs in the room. In all honesty, he really, really didn't want to be here. He felt like he had no right. No right to see Chuck like this. He leaned uncomfortably against the wall, next to his wife - the real person he was there for, after all.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Mr. Bass?"

Chuck was already at the door - it wasn't an orderly this time, but someone who actually looked like a doctor. White coat and all.

"Your father's been moved to a private room," the man informed him. "I'm afraid he's still not awake, but he should come round soon."

"And can you tell me what exactly is going on?" Chuck demanded. "Why is he here?"

Because no one had told them _anything. _

The doctor paused for a moment, glancing at the rest of the room.

Lily rose to her feet. "I'm his wife," she informed the man. "We're all family."

He nodded. "You're aware that Mr. Bass has been suffering from tuberculosis for a while now-"

"What?" Chuck's voice was a hiss; so sharp and so fast that it was almost inhuman. Blair's fingers pressed into his arm, equally shocked - and the whole room stared at the doctor without comprehension.

He looked a little uneasy. "Uh..."

Lily collected herself first. "Clearly," she managed, "We were not aware. What are you talking about?"

The doctor shifted on his feet, looking at them much more carefully now. "We have the notes from his private doctor," he said very slowly. "Mr. Bass was diagnosed with nervous tuberculosis last August." He was still looking at them, like he couldn't quite believe this was news to them. "He was in Chicago only last week?" he clarified, perplexed. "Receiving treatment in the St. Louis Clinic? They have a new series of-"

"He can't," Chuck interjected. Trying to inject scorn into his tone - but he barely recognised his own voice. But Bart _couldn't - "_Everyone knows the symptoms of tuberculosis," he stressed. "My father hasn't been coughing up blood." His eyes moved to the rest of them, all still silent. Trying to get them to agree. "He hasn't."

(None of them wanted to venture the unvoiced question of how exactly any of them would even have known.)

The doctor cleared his throat. "That is one of the symptoms," he agreed, "But only at the final stages - we believe it occurs when the infection reaches the lungs. And, as I mentioned, Mr. Bass has nervous tuberculosis." Blank looks. "Meaning it, ah, affects just the nervous system. Or so we believe - it's possible that it affects the skeleton, but we're not clear on the difference yet."

All of which meant nothing to Chuck.

"Final stages?" Serena spoke up - suddenly clinging to that. "So it's not in the final stages yet?"

The doctor looked a little uncomfortable. "Perhaps, Mr. Bass, you and your mother would like to come with me to the private room to discuss-"

"Just answer the question," Chuck hissed.

"It's not in the final stages," the doctor acknowledged, at last. "But we have reason to suspect that it's quite far advanced."

Lily breathed out, closing her eyes. "Can we see him?" she eventually managed.

The doctor nodded, holding open the door. "If we could only allow two people at a time, for now..."

By unspoken agreement, Chuck and Lily went after him. It took a lot for Blair to let go of Chuck's arm; his expression flickered back to hers, for a moment, cutting into her - she'd never seen him more lost. Afraid. So desperately trying to hold himself together as her nails dug into his coat sleeve, a silent promise that she'd be waiting when he came out. And then he had no choice but to follow Lily and the doctor, door closing in her face.

She could only stand there, staring helplessly after him; and it was Eric, at last, who gently caught her and pulled her over to the seats. She tried to resist, but Serena took hold of her. The blonde's eyes were shining with tears as she gripped the brunette's hand, fiercely.

Eric took her other hand - even Dan gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. But Blair _needed_ to be with Chuck.

The four of them waited in suffocating silence.

* * *

Chuck's legs were still weak as he moved down the highly polished corridor, blank walls and low electric lights passing in a blur. It was hard to focus on where he was going when all his energy was focused on keeping upright.

He and Lily were led to the final door, and in the split second before it opened Chuck wondered if he was actually going to throw up. He didn't _want_ to go in there - and, at the same time, it was an all-consuming need.

Bart couldn't be sick.

The doctor ushered them in, and Chuck didn't hear anything else from that point.

That couldn't be his father, surely, lying in a hospital bed - that weak? He didn't know if it was the sickly light of the room, or the starched sheets - or maybe just the fact that his father was lying down, eyes closed - but the man's face looked somehow sunken. Unrecognizable.

But Chuck had seen him just two days ago - surely he couldn't get that unwell in such a short space of time? Or had Chuck just not _noticed _before?

The doctor was saying things; something about treatments not working, and the disease bringing about a fit - they'd had to stabilize him, had to give him an _injection _of some kind to stop the fit -

And still, none of it made any sense to Chuck.

"When's he going to wake up?" he blurted, harshly. Still staring at the body before him with absolute nausea.

Apparently they were still waiting for the effects of whatever they'd administered to wear off -

"And then what?" Chuck demanded.

Lily went to take his arm, but he flinched away, almost unconsciously; rigid. Because if Bart had one fit, couldn't he have another?

(Because Bart _couldn't_ be sick).

And everyone knew the stories about tuberculosis. Chuck had always associated them with the lower classes, though - how could Bart possibly have the same thing? People in the lower classes died from tuberculosis. Always. And that_ couldn't_ be his father.

The doctor glanced at the young man; at the pale woman at his side.

"Well," he started, cautiously. "This form of the illness puts patients at high risk of continued fits. But they can be...monitored. As you've seen, they're dangerous - but not impossible to treat." He cleared his throat. "I understand that Mr. Bass leads a very active life. However, it would be inadvisable for him to continue in the same way. He simply can't put his body under that much stress."

Lily exhaled again. "So...he'll have to stop work?"

Chuck wondered if she was thinking the same thing - how could Bart Bass _ever_ stop work? He simply couldn't picture his father doing anything else. Not in a business suit? Not behind his desk?

"That would be the first requirement, yes," the doctor started.

Chuck's gaze whipped to his. "This_ first _requirement?" he echoed, an empty growl.

"Your father needs to be looked after," the man answered. And finally, he was being frank. "I'm talking about permanent care. He can't be on his feet all hours of the day. I would even go as far as recommending he get out of the city. Or at least Manhattan."

Chuck could only stare.

_Permanent care? _

His father, allowing anyone to_ look after_ him?

Lily was doing a far better job at keeping herself together than he was. "What are you saying?" she asked, crisply.

"I recommend a sanitorium. They can provide the care that your husband needs. There's a particularly excellent facility in Westchester..."

Chuck couldn't hear the rest.

A sanitorium.

That was where they sent people to die.

When nothing else could be done.

His father was sick.

And there was no treatment.

He was dimly aware of Lily trying to stop him; but he pulled away from her without even realising, feeling the bile rise in his throat as the walls blurred into nothing and he had. to. get. out -

He got into the corridor, away from that room and away from his father, not even hearing Lily crying out after him; and he was almost running, as far as his violently shaking legs could carry him. He rounded a corner, finally stopping in the deserted corridor as his breath caught and he sank down against the wall, legs no longer able to support him.

Bart was _sick._

_

* * *

_He was still sitting there, lost, when Blair found him. An alarmed Lily had come back into the side room - and Blair had jumped to her feet without another word.

She could've sworn her heart rent at the sight of him; the man in the black suit and coat, crumpled on the hospital floor; and the little boy. And Chuck. Her Chuck.

Silently, she eased herself onto the ground next to him, oblivious for once of the cream of her coat.

She knew he was aware of her presence; but he was still struggling to breathe. Eyes half closed.

So she crouched next to him, warmth seconds from his but still not quite touching him - because she could tell not to. Not yet. Even if every inch of her begged to throw herself at him; to hold him till she could somehow transfer all of that pain to herself. She kept very still and very silent, watching him. Waiting.

"They want to send him to a sanitorium."

His voice was hollow, a half choked snarl. Heavy in the silence, still fighting with his own breath. Shoulders slumped, hands clenched.

"I know."

"He's sick."

Her eyes filled with silent tears - not for Bart, though.

"I know," she whispered.

"I didn't notice," he whispered, tightly, back.

His breathing harshened - he still couldn't look at her, look at anything - and then she did take his hand. Wrapping her own fingers around his fist as tightly as she could, till it opened up and she could force her way in.

"He didn't tell you," she answered, quiet and firm.

He was silent, hand crushing hers.

She just held on. Her eyes never left the rigid line of his jaw, flickering over those squeezed shut eyes till his breathing gradually slowed.

"He's awake," she said, at last, very softly.

Chuck managed a nod. She knew.

Slowly, he went to stand up - and she caught him, reaching for his arm. He was still awkward on his feet; and he had to turn away for the briefest moments, breath still catching as he ran his sleeve, hard, over his face. Steadying himself. She waited, so patiently - and he looked at her, finally. Just once. She knew.

She moved in to his chest, fingers burying in the front of his coat. His arm had already slid around her tiny shoulders, though - and he was half leaning on her, holding onto her as they made their way back to Bart.

* * *

Bart was aware that he wasn't in the clearest states of mind. Whatever they'd given him had left the room in a dim haze. He'd had dreams, too - as vivid as they were blurred; mere figures and voices in front of his eyes that filtered away the more conscious he became. He knew he'd dreamt about his son, though.

_Funny. So do you. _

It was funny, really - as the ground had come up to meet him in the station, he'd remembered them telling him this was likely to happen, and it had occurred to him then that he might die. He remembered the statistics and the details they'd told him about the fits - choking on your own vomit, body going into a state of shock, if no one was there - and it was ironic, really, that Bart Bass might have died, alone in a crowded station, unable to control even his own body.

And knowing that his son probably hated him.

He didn't die, though.

And when he woke up again, his son was by his bed. He wasn't sure if he _was _still dreaming. His hand had twitched, against its own will - and he'd seen the expression of pure shock on Chuck's face.

That, and the feel of the boy's overcoat - he wasn't dreaming.

Bart rarely, if ever, had any physical contact with his son. At all. But he let his hand rest on top of his, because he was too tired to pull it away. And he needed to know the boy was real. (And he was sorry).

He thought he'd dreamt of Evelyn, too - and the slant of his son's cheekbones reminded him. Like they always did. He caught a hint of scent, a pair of wide brown eyes - and for one, delusional second - but it was the girl, of course, one small hand resting quietly on his son's shoulder as she stood by his seat.

The girl wasn't Evelyn, because she wasn't going anywhere. And because of that, Chuck would be fine.

And with that final thought Bart fell asleep again.

* * *

Bart was far more alert when they returned the next morning - Bass Industries had heard by this point, and Blair had postponed her Foundation brunch. He was sitting upright, blue eyes much sharper than they had been; still pale, but clearly already restless.

Lily was at his bedside, immaculately dressed and perfectly made up as ever. She was holding a copy of the Times, already turned to the financial section. They both glanced up as Chuck and Blair entered.

Blair moved forwards first to greet both of them, managing a smile as she set down the grapes she'd brought on Bart's bedside table.

He thanked her briefly, but his frown zeroed, straight away, on his son.

"Why aren't you at work?"

Blair felt Chuck actually hesitate at her side. Just for a second.

"Bart," Lily admonished. "He's come to see you." She sent her favourite stepson a slightly exasperated look, shaking her head.

"And you couldn't have come to see me after office hours?"

Chuck rolled his eyes at that. "Forgive me, father, if I couldn't concentrate on numbers after you _collapsed_." His voice was low, but his gaze narrowed - there was still the matter of the degenerative disease Bart had failed to mention, after all.

"Well, I'm fine now," was Bart's brusque retort. "So there's no reason that my business should have to suffer. You're in charge now, Charles. You can't just leave everything to Carter."

"Please," Lily sighed, before Chuck could respond; "Can we not talk about work?" She rose to her feet, gesturing for Chuck to sit in her chair. "Charles is here to see _you_. His father. And God knows it's been long enough since the two of you have talked." She shot her husband a pointed look. "I believe you have a lot to discuss."

She took her daughter in-law's arm. "Come, Blair. I need to talk to one of the nurses about water..." And she swept the younger girl out, leaving the two men alone.

Chuck straightened his tie. He lowered himself, stiffly, into the chair.

"How was you night?" he asked at last. Lifting his gaze to his father's.

"It's no five star hotel," Bart answered, eventually. Drily.

Chuck gave a faint smile.

Bart's tone was back to business, though, immediate - "Did you read that report?"

"Father-" Chuck attempted.

"Well? Did you?"

"Yes," Chuck sighed, eventually. "But-"

"But nothing," Bart interjected. He narrowed his eyes at his son. "I'm being serious, Charles. You can't afford a whole day off work. I need to know that you're going to be on top of everything. You and Carter are now responsible-"

"You have tuberculosis."

Bart pursed his lips.

His expression was carefully blank as he took in his son's heated gaze, the harshness of his voice.

"Yes," he answered coolly. "But that doesn't mean I'm senile. Or that I expect to be treated like a fool. Business does not wait because one man goes to hospital." His tone sharpened; "I expect you to know that. If I have to leave Manhattan, then I need to know I'm leaving Bass Industries in capable hands. When I die-" And, seeing Chuck actually flinch - "Charles," he almost snapped, "We're all going to die." His expression was impassive. "Eventually. You know that. It's a matter of practicality - and we don't have time for this childish fear.

"When I die," he went on, evenly, "Bass Industries will be yours. You need to tell me now - can you handle that responsibility?"

Chuck swallowed hard. He struggled to even look at his father. For a second he wondered how even Bart could be that cold - but that tiny voice in the back of his head wondered if, in typical Bass fashion, Bart was simply distancing himself.

Because maybe Bart wasn't as invincible as he'd always thought.

Finally, he lifted his eyes. "Yes," he answered quietly. Raw. "I can." (He hoped). He searched the icy blue of his father's gaze, and for the first time saw the faint lines on his face.

Bart didn't crack, though; he simply nodded. "Good."

There was a silence between the two of them.

Then Bart cleared his throat a little. "So." He nodded at the paper. He wasn't supposed to read - in case it caused too much stress, apparently. "How's the price of gold?" Because multi-talented as Lily was, she had no particular interest in deciphering charts for him.

Chuck risked another glance in his father's direction. And, seeing his expectant look, he slowly, obediently picked up the Times. And, still seated at the old man's side, he set about looking for what he'd asked. Cleared his own throat.

"Apparently it's up three percent..."

* * *

Chuck had gone back to the office following their visit, and Blair had half an hour to set up everything for tea with the Purcells. They were a particularly wealthy family - mother and three daughters - that had come over from England last year, following the war. Any reception with them was highly, highly sought after; Mr. Purcell supposedly owned half the plantations in Jamaica.

So everything needed to be perfect. Which wasn't exactly easy when Blair still had Chuck to worry about. She knew he needed to keep busy, but she wasn't entirely sure going back to work so quickly was the best of ideas. Especially considering how stressful he'd been finding it anyway, even before all of the business with Bart.

She swore, if Carter did _anything_ -

"Miss Blair! You have visitor."

She froze - the Purcells couldn't be here already.

"Who is it?" she hissed after her maid.

The Polish woman nodded her head towards the door. "Mrs. Dalgaard."

Jenny.

Blair concealed an eye-roll of sheer irritation - why did that girl insist on turning up, uninvited, at the worst of times? She strode into the hall, more than ready to get rid of her.

"Jennifer.'

The girl turned, ankle-dipping as ever, with that nervous smile. "Blair. I was just coming to-"

"That's lovely," Blair interrupted, "But I really don't have time. And if you're here about the Foundation, you can get out now."

"I'm not," Jenny said hastily. (She blatantly was). "I just wanted to apologise for yesterday. And Dan told me about Mr. Bass. I'm really sorry. You know, if you need anything-"

"Then I doubt you'd be able to provide it," Blair snapped, impatient. She sighed. "I accept your condolences, but if you don't mind - I'm expecting guests. I really need to get on."

Jenny blinked.

Blair lifted an eyebrow. "Well?"

"Blair," the other girl blurted; "Look, I don't know what I did to offend you, but - I just want to be your friend. Really. And I'm not trying to steal Serena, or any of your other friends-"

Blair's nostrils flared a little. "Please." She snorted with derision, cutting her off. "You think I'm threatened by _you_?" Her tone was haughty. "You honestly think _you_ could succeed in stealing any of my friends?"

Jenny swallowed. "I heard about the photographs, and the thing with Waldorf Designs-"

"Is _nothing_." Blair's voice was suddenly dangerous as she stared at her. "And none of your business." How had _Jenny_ even found out? "So you can leave. Now."

"But-"

"I said good _bye_, little J." Blair continued to glare at her, like she couldn't believe she'd disobeyed a direct order, and Jenny was forced to leave. Humiliated. Again.

* * *

"Don't worry, Bass. I handled all of your meetings while you took the morning off."

Carter's gloating face was the first thing Chuck was greeted with as he got into his office.

"Thank you," he sneered back. Ignore Carter. He could ignore him.

"To be honest, no one really noticed you were gone. If anything, it made things run a little smoother." He flashed Chuck a nasty smirk. "How's daddy dearest?"

Chuck just rolled his eyes. "I'm busy," he answered curtly. "Leave."

"All right." Baizen shrugged. "Then I won't tell you about the Astoria deal."

Chuck tried to bite back a growl of irritation. "Baizen."

"I'm taking a lunch break. Some of us have been working all morning."

And with that, he sauntered out.

Chuck sat down at his desk, seething, and picked up the pile of papers he needed to get through. He would focus on work, and ignore Baizen. He could get the Astoria details out of a clerk later.

He was in control.

* * *

Jenny was still sulking when she got home. All that time she'd wasted trying to be Blair's friend - she'd actually thought she had a chance. But Blair had made it perfectly clear what she'd been thinking the whole time. Jenny was nothing. Little J. A stupid little girl.

She looked up as Damien got in, glaring at him.

He barely noticed. Finally, though, he realized she hadn't even greeted him. "What's wrong with you?" he sounded impatient.

"Where were you?" she asked stroppily, instead. "Out doing your deals?"

He just rolled his eyes. "None of your business."

But she was sick of it. Sick of being excluded, brushed aside. "Did you make a profit?" she seethed.

He barely looked at her, like she was an idiot. "Obviously."

And something snapped inside of her. She stood up. "I want in," she declared.

Finally, finally she actually had his attention. He stared. "What?" Finally, she'd actually had an affect on someone. They were going to learn. She wouldn't be ignored. Not any more.

"I'm your wife," she insisted. "What's yours is mine. I want in."

* * *

**A/N - I'm so sorry for the delay in updating this story. I've had complete writer's block, and I didn't want to publish a crappy chapter just to get it done. I hope I haven't lost all my readers, anyway...Thank you so, so much for your lovely reviews! **


	6. Chapter 6

He watched the brunette from behind a pillar. He'd done his research - seen her in enough columns. And her husband, of course. So he'd been well aware of her beauty.

But that didn't stop him from enjoying the wideness of her brown eyes, or the way the green lace clung to her slender frame. From his spot he was perfectly unnoticeable, and perfectly at liberty to watch her smiling and shaking hands like a true society queen. And he watched closer as her expression darkened, interest piqued, and followed her to a pale blonde that she looked about ready to murder.

* * *

The gala hosted by the Girls Foundation was in aid of the missionaries' work in Africa (Blair had picked the charity well - no support for hospitals or infirmaries that might draw unwanted attention to the Basses). It had been planned with the usual Blair Waldorf precision; catering exquisite, her own dress flawlessly co-ordinated to the ballroom's emerald and silver theme.

The only thing missing was a dark-haired man in a matching green bow tie.

Chuck was running late. Work, of course.

And Blair was worried about him.

He'd been running himself into the ground the past few weeks, spending all hours at Bass Industries, waking up at the crack of dawn and not returning till well into the night. And it had only worsened when Bart was moved to the sanitorium in Westchester - at least before then, Chuck had been able to visit the man every day. The only thing he could do, now, was carry out Bart's orders. To the extreme.

They were going to Westchester that weekend, and Blair knew Chuck was dreading it. Bass men did not deal with sickness or weakness at the best of times. Let alone a whole home devoted to it.

"Blair!" She was snapped out of thoughts of her husband by Ingird's drawl. "Darling, the place is marvelous," the woman beamed. "You've really outdone yourself this time."

Blair's smile was automatic. (Well, of course it was marvelous. She was in charge).Her eyes scanned the room once more, flickering to the entrance doors. She pursed her lips. Still no sign of him. And then her eyes narrowed - because Jenny Dalgaard had just walked in. The cheek of it. Mouth still bared in a tight smile, she made her way over to the blonde.

"Jenninfer." Her tone was pleasant. Her eyes were not. "I wasn't aware you had an invitation."

Jenny met her coolly back, and Blair noticed with distaste that the girl's black dress was expensive but ill-suited to her lanky frame. Jenny could try as much as she liked. She'd never quite master it.

"Actually," Jenny answered, "Ingrid asked me to come." She smiled, diffident and challenging.

Blair stared for a second in disbelief. "Ingrid?" she snorted. "Please. As if you could ever get an interview with Ingrid Haversham."

"Well, I did," Jenny shot back.

Actually, opium got her an interview with Ingrid Haversham. Behind her perfect society smile, the lady was a raging addict. Jenny was fast discovering that the flawless upper east side veneer was just that. A cover for the rot underneath.

"Well," Blair seethed, still all sweetness, "I'm afraid that's irrelevant. This is my gala, little J. I decide the guest list." She was assessing the girl as she said it, though; because there was definitely something different about her. Something harsher. There was no more ankle dipping now.

"You can't throw me out," Jenny asserted - to which Blair rasied an eyebrow.

"I think you'll find I can. Do I need to call the doorman over?"

Jenny's eyes widened as she realised Blair was being serious. "Come on, you can't actually-"

They were interrupted, then, by Ingrid Haversham herself. "Is there a problem, laides?"

"No," Blair smiled. "Mrs. Dalgaard was just leaving."

Ingrid seemed a little bemused. "Leaving? But-"

"But Mrs. Haversham invited me," Jenny insisted. Defiant now. Her eyes sought Ingrid's. "I can't just leave." She waited for the society matron to defend her.

"Oh, you can," Blair assured her.

Jenny continued to stare at Ingrid, and the lady looked flustered. Caught between the blonde who knew her dirty secret and...well, Blair Bass. Blair Bass.  
She swallowed. "There seems to have been some sort of mix up." She laughed brightly, already looking for an escape route. "I'm truly sorry about this, Jennifer. But if Blair hasn't catered for you..."

Jenny couldn't believe it; her mouth opened for a second as the other woman disappeared.

"Good night, Jennifer," Blair finished acidly. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

Jenny was almost shaking with anger at the injustice of it all as she glared back. For all her efforts, she was still nowhere near Blair's level of respect or power. All those dodgy deals, and she was still being made to leave parties. Humiliated. This would not be the end of it, she vowed as she stalked out. This would be the last time anybody underestimated _Little J._

* * *

"Well, that was entertaining."

Blair glanced up from her glass of champage to see a man regarding her. He was tall, tawny haired in a slick tuxedo with bright green eyes. Blair wasn't sure she liked the knowing look in them.

"And you are?"

Usually all it took was a glance from her to knock them down, but this man looked quite amused. "Enchanted to meet you, believe me."

Blair was so taken aback by his impudence that his lips were on her hand before she could snatch it back. She soon gathered her senses, though.

"I'm sorry, are you on the guest list?" she retorted, clipped, as she drew herself up and away from him.

"Why?" His eyes were still twinkling. "Are you going to throw me out like you did that blonde girl?"

Blair was not amused. "Clearly I need to have a word with the doormen. They're doing an awful job tonight." She glared at him. "Don't tell me, Mrs. Haversham invited you too?"

He just smiled. "No, actually a Mr. and Mrs. Bass did. Unfortunately I haven't had the chance to meet them yet - I've only just arrived in the city. Could you help me?"

Blair gave him a disdainful look. "I'm Mrs. Bass," she informed him archly. "And I can assure you, I most defintely did not invite you."

His brow furrowed. "Oh?" He pulled out a card that was unmistakeably one of the silver edged invitations she'd designed, and made a show of reading it. "Mr. and Mrs. Bass cordially invite Mr. Adrian Montgommery to the Girls' Foundation Annual Charity Gala, in aid of the St. John's workers." He glanced up, expression quite serious even with that gleam in his eye. "Tell me, are they the ones in the Congo?"

Blair's mouth had suddenly gone dry. "You're Mr. Montgommery? It came out in almost a squeak, and was most unbecoming.

"I was the last time I checked."

Oh, God. Adrian Montgommery, of Montgommery Finances. The accountancy Chuck was trying to court for Bass Industries since the Giovannis had withdrawn their services. Montgommery Finances, supposedly one of the best in America. Chuck had asked her to add him to the guest list.

And she'd just insulted him.

She cleared her throat hastily, already fixing a smile in place. "Well, Mr. Montgommery, it's a pleasure to meet you!"

He gazed down at her, eyes still reflecting quiet amusement. "I couldn't agree more."

* * *

Chuck waved aside the doorman as he entered the ballroom, already flickering past the hordes of well-dressed people. He felt a prickle of lifted tension as his gaze fell on a familiar dark head. And he moved towards her, appreciating the way her rich green dress clung to her pale skin. Finally. He hadn't realised just how much he'd missed her till now.

He slid an arm round her waist as he joined her; and he recognised the man she was speaking to from his profile. He'd seen it in enough of the journals he'd perused. Adrian Montgommery. He held out a hand, smooth smile already sliding into place.

"Mr. Montgommery. Glad you could make it. I'm Chuck Bass."

The guy smiled back. "Your wife has just been entertaining me. You're a lucky man, Mr. Bass."

Blair smiled demurely, while Chuck squeezed her waist. "Oh, I know," he murmured. She knew he was talking just to her, and a tingle of satsifaction passed down her spine as she moved into his heat. It was quite clear they would be finishing this conversation properly later. But for now, Chuck was the charming host. "Can I get you something to drink, Mr. Montgommery?"

* * *

Blair disentangled herself from Chuck - he let her go with a press of her hand, a dirty murmur in her ear - to make a beeline straight for her best friend. She grabbed the blonde and marched her into a corner, out of earshot.

"You're late."

"I'm sorry, B," Serena sighed.

Blair made no effort to hide her disapproval. It wasn't aimed at Serena, though. "Where's Dan?" Because her sharp gaze had already noted his absence. And how dare he leave her best friend to attend a ball alone? Did he have any idea of what constituted as manners?

Serena ran a hand through her hair (an action that would have undone all of Blair's hard work had she done the same to her own locks, but somehow only made the blonde's more lively). "We had another fight."

"Over the apartment." Blair didn't even need to guess; and Serena slumped.

"I'm just so tired of this, you know?"

The other week had been Humphrey's birthday. Lily had insisted on throwing him a large party, which of course he hadn't shown an inch of gratitude for. If anything, he'd been upset by it. Kept insisting he didn't want a fuss, didn't need that much extravagance wasted on him - much to Blair's irritation. If someone arranged a party for you, then you damn well accepted it. With grace.

It had all come to one nasty (and, frankly, unnecessary) head when he'd received Bart's present. The deeds to one Upper East Side penthouse, enclosed in a letter. Dan had gone very silent after he'd read it. Still, like he didn't know what to say. And sadly Blair wasn't foolish enough to think it was from gratitude at the gesture.

He'd left the room after that.

Leaving one very confused Serena. "But...it's a present. I thought...?"

Of course - because why would anyone think that a _present _could upset someone? Blair had wanted to grab Humphrey and shake him. Hard. Gritting her teeth, she'd informed Serena she would go find him and talk some sense into him. (Kick some sense into him, if nothing.)

And once she'd found him sulking round the street corner, she'd crisply reminded him of his promise only the other week, to accept all of his gifts with gratitude.

"You promised me a smile, Humphrey. So get back up there and stop acting like a petulant child."

The cogs had started whirring in Humphrey's mind, then - and before she knew it, he was accusing her of planning this the whole time. "Why else would you make me promise?" he'd demanded. "You knew Bart was going to do this!"

It had taken a lot of Blair's willpower not to shake him there and then. Did Humphrey seriously think _anyone _knew what Bart was up to? Ever?

Humphrey hadn't apologised, anyway. No - he'd thrown up his hands and left in anger.

What was surprising was that Serena had then decided to put her foot down. She'd told Dan that it was a present, and it was theirs - and she was accepting it. Besides which, Eric and Lily needed her at the moment, and he didn't get to stop her from being there for them. She'd been oblivious to his protests from then on, and started a whirlwind of packing to get their belongings shipped up. Serena being Serena, she had of course left it to the last minute, and as a result, her things were all over the place - but still. Blair was glad her best friend had finally made a decision and stuck to it.

Not that it had meant an end to Humphrey's indignation. All that passive aggressive sulking - Blair despised of it. The thing was, she understood Humphrey's misguided sense of pride. (Misguided because there was nothing in that loft of his to actually be proud about). But, unlike Serena, she appreciated the need to work for what you wanted. (And she meant that in the best possible way about her best friend; because how could Serena ever understand what she'd never been given the chance to do?)

Blair probably hated charity even more than Humphrey did.

But that didn't mean it was any less frustrating. Because she also understood what Humphrey didn't - you had to make the best of your chances. Grab whatever you could take.

And Dan and Serena were married - and being married meant compromise. (Admittedly Blair's biggest compromise with Chuck was taking turns on top. But still). Blair knew Humphrey wanted Serena to be happy. The problem was, he still had that inferiority complex. And he apparently hadn't worked out yet - or not well enough, anyway - that while she was easy-going about almost anything, the second someone tried to tell her to do something - she would rebel. And there was no one who could withstand the whirlwind force that was Serena van der Woodsen. (Fine, Serena Humphrey).

Dan was being irrational, and he needed to cede the apartment. Or he was just pushing Serena further and further away. And _that_ worried Blair, especially with a certain Baizen waiting so determinedly in the wings.

"Please distract me," Serena groaned now. "Really, tell me anything."

"The gala's perfect," Blair responded drily. "Thank you for asking." But she was smiling, half wry, underneath it all, as Serena grinned sheepishly.

"I'm sorry, B. It really is beautiful." She made an effort to look round the room to make her point more convincing. Her gaze flitted past her stepbrother, and landed on someone else who was actually under the age of forty. "Ooh, who's Chuck talking to?" She glanced at the handsome man.

"Hopefully, Bass Industries' new accountant."

Serena's eyes widened. "Oh my. Who knew accountants could be so handsome?"

"Serena!" The scandalised hiss was expected, but Blair couldn't help but agree as she followed her best friend's gaze. She'd yet to meet a single accountant who hadn't bored her within five minutes. Still, Serena's dreamy gaze did worry her a little. "You're married," she pointed out. Even if it was to Humphrey. More importantly, some of Serena's behaviour lately had been concerning. Ever since that stupid kiss -

Serena rolled her eyes. "Relax, Blair. I'm joking. I love Dan," she sighed. But Blair had spotted the trouble behind those blue eyes.

"Serena," she prompted. Her tone was suddenly softer now. "What is it?"

Serena worried on her lip. "I just...nothing." She shook her head. "Nothing."

Like that fooled Blair for even a second. "You do love Dan, don't you?" she frowned.

The blonde looked a little horrified at the suggestion. "Of course I do!" Blair actually knew that - she'd just wanted to test the blonde. "Just...I'm tired of all the arguments."

Serena couldn't tell her best friend the truth. Out of everyone, Blair was the one person she couldn't tell. She couldn't tell Blair she still went to Nate's grave most days. That whenever she thought about him, it still made her whole body ache. She loved Dan. She loved their life together. But sometimes when she looked at Faith...sometimes it all felt a bit too perfect. It unnerved her. Almost unsettled her, and she wasn't sure why. (Maybe, on some level, that was why she'd kissed Carter).

But what she could never tell Blair - especially not now - was what made her feel the most guilty. The most confused. Because it was about the baby. She was supposed to be excited, she knew. And part of her was - a baby with Dan. She wanted it; a part of him, and a part of her.

But...

Well, part of her remembered the feelings she'd had, carrying Faith. It had been far from happiness then. And over-whelming, all-consuming guilt at what she'd done to her best friend. A permanent reminder. She'd even gone as far as being reckless a few times when she was pregnant; opium and drinking that the doctor had recommended against. She'd just been so miserable. So afraid.

It hadn't been till she'd felt Faith kick that it had finally sunk in - there was a life inside of her. A life that she was responsible for. And she couldn't afford to screw it up. Not this time.

(So she'd straightened her own life out, moved to Brooklyn, started from nothing and met Dan).

And now she couldn't help but associate pregnancy with that sense of nausea. Holding Faith in her arms for the first time - every time she looked at Faith - it had conveniently blurred those memories.

But she couldn't help but feel somewhere, deep down, that this baby was some kind of replacement. A life with Nate that she was never meant to have for a life with Dan. And sometimes she wondered if she really wanted this baby for the right reasons.

And how could she ever tell Blair that?

So she smiled and squeezed her best friend's hand and tried to distract her with talk of the gala. Blair could tell something was up, of course. But Serena could never let her guess what.

* * *

Chuck decided he couldn't wait any longer, and attacked her in the car on the way home. Her greedy mouth was all too eager to respond, and shirt buttons and dress straps went flying across the darkness of the leather seats. His hands worked their way under her skirt, gripping her thighs as he groaned into her and her nails scraped along his back.

It had been one long week.

* * *

The next day, Chuck sauntered into the offices at Bass Industries with more of a spring to his step. He had memories of last night fresh in his memory - (they'd only barely made it up into the penthouse before ripping each other's clothes off properly, and they hadn't made it to the bedroom for quite some time. Collapsing on sex-drenched sheets with his wife in his arms was definitely the way to fall asleep) - and, even better, he'd woken up to not only a positive telegram from Adrian Montgommery, but Blair and breakfast in bed. Although he'd licked more cream off Blair than he had the plate. It really had been torment leaving her.

But at the very least, he had the promise of a new accountant to look forward to. And the icing on the cake was -

"Baizen." Chuck's lip curled as the other man prowled into his office.

Not that Carter bothered with greeting him back. "You'll be pleased to know that while you were flitting around your gala last night, I managed to sort out your little faux pas." He smirked. "I'm interviewing John Harrow this afternoon. You know, the Wall Street genius? I guess at least one of us knows how to take initiative."

Chuck gave him a look of idle scorn. He waved the telegram he'd just received from Montgommery under Baizen's smug face. "Don't bother," he drawled. "I've just signed one the best accountants in the United States."

Carter scowled. He should have known as much. Of course - Chuck had used the gala to do it. Where he knew there wouldn't be any interference from Carter. He knew the Basstard had seemed a little too satisfied.

"Really," he sneered back. "I don't think your nineteen year-old stepbrother counts, Bass. Why don't you come back when you've found a real grown up to deal with you?"

Chuck ignored him. "I'm signing the contract this afternoon." It was his turn to smirk now. "Maybe I could introduce the two of you? He may be able to spare a minute."

"I'll believe it when I see it." Carter dismissed him, turning on his heel.

Chuck just grinned. He could tell a pissed off Carter Baizen a mile away.

* * *

"Jenny."

Damien was in the doorway, and he was livid.

"Did you just out Ingrid Haversham's opium addiction to the Times' gossip column?" he demanded. He looked as though he couldn't quite believe it. Inwardly, Jenny steeled herself. She'd known this was coming.

"Yes," she shot straight back. "I did."

"Are you out of your mind?" Damien howled. "She's one of my best clients. Do you know how much money you've just lost me?"

"Lost us," Jenny corrected fiercely. "We're in this together, remember?"

Damien stared at her like she was insane. "No. We're not. I was an idiot to even think of including you. If I'd known you were going to mess everything up with your stupid social climbing..."

The words stung, but Jenny made herself ignore them. She jerked her chin up. "Well, maybe you'll listen to me in future."

"There won't be any future," Damien snapped. "You're out."

"No, I'm not." Jenny got to her feet. "I know all your clients now, Damien. And unless you want to lose all of them, you'd better start listening to me." She folded her arms.

Damien's eyes bulged for a second. Finally, he ground his teeth in frustration and stormed out.

Jenny stared at herself in the mirror, smoothing down her blonde ringlets. "I'm not little J any more." She said it with conviction, pale blue eyes staring back out at her. Stared till she no longer recognised the girl in the reflection. And this time, it was determined. "I'm not little J."

* * *

Blair smirked as she rode up the Bass Industries elevator to her husband's floor. She did, actually, have a legitimate reason for being here - one of his cufflinks had fallen out after his attempts to tussle her back into bed for one - last - (he'd succeeded, of course) - and she was simply returning it to him. How was Chuck supposed to function if he was any less than immaculately dressed?

She smoothed down her deep brown coat as the elevator came to a stop, adjusting her lipstick with another faint smirk. She'd have to be careful not to smudge his white shirt. The smirk was also because she was wearing next to nothing under the coat. Well, nothing save her slip. Chuck was the only person who could make being bad feel so good, she reflected wickedly.

She knew, of course, that they were both using sex as an escape (Chuck especially) - but if they both needed it, then she could hardly see the problem. She most definitely wasn't complaining.

* * *

Carter was considering the best ways to sabotage Chuck's meeting as he strode through the foyer on his way to lunch. He was going to be in that meeting, damnit. Chuck was seriously mistaken if he thought he could cut him out that easily. He was so busy plotting that he almost walked straight past the man coming in the opposite direction. Almost.

He stopped.

Stared, blood suddenly running cold.

Because he would recognise that swagger anywhere.

"Well, well. Carter Baizen." The man flashed white teeth at him. "Fancy meeting you here."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Carter managed to hiss, collecting himself. Even though his heart was pounding, and he could feel a cold sweat breaking out.

"Thought I'd take a break from the city of angels." There was another, lazy grin. "Don't worry, I'm not here for you." His green eyes temporarily hardened. "Not that we've forgotten, Baizen. But I have more pressing matters at the moment."

"Like what?" Carter spat with more toughness than he felt.

He smiled. "Haven't you heard? I'm your new accountant."

And with that, he swept past, leaving Carter frozen in place.

* * *

Blair moaned in satisfaction as the oak desk pressed into her back, Chuck's lips burning her neck. Her fingers clawed at his hair as his hand disappeared in between her legs again. One finger traced her thigh as she whimpered his name. He was already tugging her panties aside when there was a knock at the door, disturbing them both.

Chuck swore.

It was his lunch break, goddamit. Who the hell was knocking at his door now? Blair made a noise of complaint, which he quickly stifled with his hand.

"Who is it?" he snapped.

A voice floated through the door. "It's Adrian Montgommery? I'm here for our meeting, Mr. Bass."

Blair's eyes widened, and Chuck started cursing again. "I scheduled that meeting for one," he hissed, keeping his voice down. "He's half an hour early!"

Blair rolled her eyes and wriggled out from his grasp and off the desk. She started straightening her slip over her thighs, reaching for her coat."Well, this is fantastic." She yanked the buttons a little too savagely as her hands smoothed her hair. "Just brilliant."

Chuck gestured at his all too clear erection in incredulity. "_You're_ complaining?"

"You know," she snapped, "I cancelled my lunch with Penelope for this."

"You hate Penelope!"

She whacked him for that, on the chest, shooting a pointed glare at the door. "Shh!"

He glared back, but lowered his voice again. "It's not _my_ fault Montgommery clearly can't tell the time."

She ignored him. "You'd better make this up to me, Bass."

He glowered. "Oh, I plan to."

"Throwing me out like some cheap-"

He shut her up with a kiss, hands pinning her to the desk again. "You'd better be waiting for me when I get home tonight," he growled into her neck before she pushed him off. (Otherwise she was in danger of getting a little too carried away).

"If you're lucky," she snit, and slipped past him. She paused before the door, glancing briefly back at his straining trousers. "Serena told me she caught Humphrey playing with himself in the bath yesterday. Clearly their arguments are taking their toll on his love life." Serena had told her no such thing, but Chuck's look of horror was enough to assure her the erection wouldn't be a problem for too much longer. She smirked. "Love you!" And with that, she disappeared through the door.

* * *

**A/N I hope there are still some readers out there interested in this story...I am so, so, so sorry that it hasn't been updated in so ridiculously long. I left an A/N explaining on one of my other fics - basically, I've had various problems with this one, including writer's block, a failing laptop and now exams...But I started this chapter a while back, and got about halfway through before all of the above got in the way. Luckily I've had inspiration since then, so thought I'd take a quick break from revision to get this one finished. **

**Unfortunately my exams are far from over, so there probably won't be another update in a while. But once they're finished, this fic WILL be completed! There's quite a few chapters to go. And thank you so much to everyone who reviewed!**


	7. Chapter 7

The air was darkening over the outskirts of New York city as one gleaming locomotive chugged through. Inside, the lamplights gleamed golden round the first class carriage - reserved for just two people, dark heads nestled against its plush red seats. Blair's hand was wrapped inside Chuck's, her head on his shoulder.

"He seemed impressed with Mr. Montgommery," she prompted.

Chuck appeared unconvinced. But then, when it came to Bart, when was he ever not?

They were on the way back from Westchester - and to say it had been an awkward visit was an understatement. Bart hadn't been able to cope with the thought of people looking after him any more than Chuck had. If anything, the presence of his son had seemed to make it worse - he'd been more distant than ever, and even more abrupt than usual. Chuck had just been relieved that Blair was there. She and her forceful distraction were the only things that had managed to elicit a faint smile from Bart. Chuck had never been more grateful for her presence.

"Well, it's a good thing Baizen wasn't there to tell him otherwise," Chuck muttered now. Baizen was still dead set against the accountant, and apparently determined to find some kind of problem with him. And every time Montgommery proved him wrong with his exemplary work - he'd been a find, truly - it seemed to irritate Carter further.

"Even if he had been there," Blair replied, giving his hand a squeeze, "It's not like he has a leg to stand on." She smirked. "He just can't handle the fact that you succeeded and he failed."

That did make Chuck smile faintly as he glanced down at her.

Blair snuggled further into his shoulder. "And speaking of Carter, we need to keep him away from Serena." She sighed. "Humphrey's still sulking in his loft, and all it's doing is pushing their marriage closer to the edge. Not to mention the scandal it's creating."

Chuck pulled a face at that. "Well, much as I despise Humphrey...he is the lesser of two evils." His thumb traced Blair's hand in idle patterns. "Somebody needs to tell him how ridiculous he's being." And at that, a flash of content crossed his face. "I'd be more than happy to."

Blair rolled her eyes back. "And I'm sure you'd enjoy every second of it, but I doubt it would convince him to move to the Upper East Side. Ever."

Chuck looked disappointed.

"No," she sighed, "The problem is his pride. He's putting up such a fuss because he feels emasculated and insignificant."

This earned a frown from her husband. "But he _is _emasculated and insignificant."

"Yes," Blair answered impatiently, "But we need to convince him that he's not. He needs to feel like he can provide for Serena."

"Maybe he should sell that useless gallery, then," Chuck scoffed.

"That's it." Blair sat up a little, eyes gleaming with the beginning of a plan. "The gallery."

Chuck glanced down at her again. "If it starts making money," he realised, latching straight onto her thought process, "Humphrey will feel like he's actually worth something."

"So all we need to do," Blair finished, "Is convince an actual good artist to showcase his work there." She settled back against her husband with a smile of satisfaction. "I'm a genius." Chuck arched an eyebrow, and her gaze flickered briefly up to him. "Fine, you are too."

He smirked and dropped a kiss into her hair.

* * *

"How were Charles and Blair?" Lily enquired as she settled next to her husband. She'd spent the day shopping to give Bart a chance to spend time with his son.

"Fine," he responded brusquely. "Bass Industries seems to be under control, and Blair's doing very well for herself. The Observer want to interview her."

Lily kept her patience as she straightened the flowers on the bedside table. "And how was your son?"

She could feel Bart's frown. "I told you. Fine."

"Bart," Lily sighed. "I'm worried about him. Blair says he's spending a lot of time at work."

This simply earned her another frown. "As he should be, one would hope."

Lily was silent for a moment. Chuck wasn't her son, she knew. But sometimes she felt closer to him that she did even her own children - in some ways, it was easier to be a mother to the boy who'd never had one. "Bart," she said at last. "Pushing him away isn't helping anyone."

Bart's lip curled. "You don't understand business," he retorted crisply. "Charles has responsibilities."

"So do you," Lily reminded him. "As his father."

"And it's my duty," Bart snapped back, "As his father, to make sure that his legacy is protected. To make sure he's ready to look after himself. I've provided him with everything he needs."

Lily let him carry on, lips pressed together. She waited till he'd finished. "And what about love?" she asked then. "Have you ever even told your son you love him, Bart?"

There was a harsh silence.

The truth was, Bart couldn't stand it. Bad enough that Lily had to see him this weak - but his own son? It was humiliating. What kind of son wanted to see his own father as a helpless old man? And he was terrified, underneath it all. Terrified because he knew he was going to lose the boy. The last thing he wanted was for Chuck's last memories to be of a pathetic invalid. He'd seen him today, so strong and confident next to his wife, so committed - and Bart had suddenly realised he was terrified of being irrelevant to the boy.

And the only way Bart Bass knew how to deal with fear was by pushing everyone away. Hoping, underneath it all, that if he kept Chuck enough at a distance, then he'd never have to see the pity in his eyes. He didn't know what scared him more - the thought that his death would devastate Chuck, or the idea that it wouldn't. That it would be a loss of dead weight. And God knew it wasn't like he'd given the boy a reason to love him. Bart had always made a point of valuing respect over love (love was too complicated, too weakening) - but with respect a lost cause, now, Bart was faced with love. The last thing he knew how to deal with.

"I'm tired of this conversation," he said flatly. His eyes were hard and blank. "I'm going for a walk." And with that, he left.

Lily sighed. Well, she supposed she'd tried.

* * *

Jack Dawson was in the middle of completing his sketch when there was a knock at his workroom door.

"Come in," he called, still focused on finishing the final touches, eyes skimming the page. He glanced up and stopped in surprise when he saw who was standing in the doorway. It was the brunette from the failed Waldorf Designs shoot. She looked every bit as upright as she had on that day, still standing on ceremony at the door.

She cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, I couldn't seem to find a maid anywhere."

Jack smiled a little. "I don't have any."

She appeared torn between incredulity and disdain for a moment, but hid it well. "Oh. How...interesting." Jack felt a flicker of amusement. She took a half step closer, and it was obvious she and her cream dress were uncomfortable with the pencil shavings and paint. "I'm actually here on behalf of my husband," she stated formally. "Or rather, his brother in-law."

(Chuck loathed, loathed Humphrey being referred to as anything like a brother - but needs must.)

"I have a proposition for you."

Jack listened with increasing curiosity as she informed him she would pay three times his usual fee - he still wondered at being able to throw money around that easily, always would - in return for holding one exhibition of his work at some Brooklyn gallery.

He stared at her for a few seconds. "If you don't mind me asking - why?"

She rolled her eyes. "Let's just say that the gallery owner needs all the help that he can get." She smiled sweetly. "And I'm a giving person."

He somehow doubted that, but he was intrigued nonetheless.

He gave a little shrug. "Forget the fee. I'll do it free of charge, if you like."

* * *

"Thank you, Adrian." Chuck shook the man's hand. "That all seems great." He glanced at his watch again as he showed the man to the door of his office - he had lunch plans with Blair, and he was greatly looking forward to them.

"Is there somewhere you need to be, Mr. Bass?"

"I'm meeting my wife," Chuck smirked back. "So trust me when I say I appreciate you handling this all so quickly."

Adrian smiled. "I'm impressed you find the time. I don't know many men that can run a company and still take their wives out for lunch."

Chuck felt a slight twinge of guilt at that - because, actually, he hadn't taken her out in a while. Not since Bart had been in the hospital.

"So where are you taking her?" Adrian enquired.

Chuck was already buttoning up his suit jacket and straightening his cuffs, ready to leave. "The Algonquin. It's just around the corner." He moved out into the corridor, heading for the elevator. "Are you coming this way?"

Adrian sighed ruefully. "I should probably run over a few more numbers first."

Chuck nodded and thanked him again, thoughts already on his waiting wife as he stood outside the elevator. He had just entered the compartment, and was on the verge of closing the door, when a hand slid in. Followed by a person that made Chuck's face darken instantly.

"Baizen."

"Bass."

The two men stood, ignoring each other, as the elevator started its descent.

Adrian paused next to the elevator lever. His old home had a rickety dumbwaiter, and when his father was feeling particularly cruel, he'd used to push Adrian into it as a 'joke'. Adrian had spent enough hours trapped in the dark box to have figured out how the system worked. He'd suffered from claustrophobia and a mistrust of elevators ever since - enough to have spent time working out how they functioned too. The never-ending elevator journeys were one of the worst thing about Manhattan and its towering buildings.

Now, though, they were about to come in handy. He pulled the lever, stopping the elevator Chuck and Carter had just entered mid floor. Then, whistling to himself, he headed for the stairs.

* * *

Blair readjusted her dress as she sat at the table. He was late, which was unlike him. She'd already been waiting ten minutes. And it hardly gave off the best of appearances for a lady to be sitting alone in a restaurant.

She prayed there wasn't some kind of crisis at Bass Industries as she sipped her water. That was all they needed. She'd been looking forward to lunch all day - particularly as she was faced with the odious prospect of tea with Penelope after it. She'd cancelled on her enough times, and had by now run out of excuses.

She was so busy thinking of a list of possible reasons for an early exit from Penelope's that she didn't notice the man watching her till he spoke her name.

"Mrs. Bass?"

She glanced up to find herself faced with the brilliant green of Adrian Montgommery's eyes. He smiled - and he did have a nice smile. Blair made a mental note not to let Serena near him the next time he smiled.

"Mr. Montgommery. What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the table next to hers, which a waiter was in the middle of setting up. "I thought I'd take my lunch break. Actually, your husband suggested this place." He glanced around. "Is he meeting you here?"

Blair pressed her lips together. "He's supposed to be."

For a moment, Adrian paused as though sensing her ire. "I'm sorry, I'm sure the last thing you want is your husband's accountant sitting in on your lunch - I can go elsewhere." He started to leave, but Blair stopped him.

"Don't be silly. Enjoy your lunch." She gave him a smile, which he returned as he took his seat.

Blair returned to perusing her menu, though she'd long decided what she wanted. Honestly, it was nearly twenty five minutes now - what was he playing at?

Adrian watched her lowered lashes, taking in the delicate curve of her cheekbone and the dark curls on the exposed nape of her neck. He waited till the waiter was halfway through pouring his red wine before swiftly knocking the glass over. The effect was instantaneous, bleeding into the white tablecloth. "You fool!" he snapped, loud enough for Blair to hear, as he jumped to his feet. "Will you watch what you're doing?"

The waiter was already babbling his apologies as he tried to dab away the wine; too late, though. "I'm sorry sir," the man stuttered, "We'll just get this cleaned up-"

"And where do you propose I sit in the meantime?" Adrian demanded, knowing full well that the other tables were all full. He let out a sigh. "Fine, I'll just have to wait."

Blair paused. Truth be told, she didn't want to do the charitable thing. Then again - it would give her more ammunition to hold over Chuck's head later. She'd had to entertain _his_ accountant while she was _waiting_ for him to arrive. And with any luck, talking to him might reveal a convenient wife to keep him well out of Serena's way. (Of course she trusted her best friend. But one could never be too careful. And Blair had never been one for taking chances). And at least she wouldn't be sitting alone if her husband's accountant was with her.

"Mr. Montgommery?" she called demurely. "You're welcome to sit here while they clean it up. At least until Chuck arrives."

Adrian flashed her another grin. "If you're sure?" He was already heading straight for the seat opposite her. She found herself, once again, just a little too close to those dazzling eyes.

She cleared her throat. "So. Tell me about yourself, Mr. Montgommery."

He continued to gaze at her, and his voice was soft. "What do you want to know?"

* * *

"Unbelievable," Chuck fumed as he struck the elevator door again. "I don't _believe_ this."

Carter gave him a look of dislike. "Isn't maintenance of the building something you're in charge of, Bass? Yet another thing you've failed at."

"Mouth closed, Baizen," Chuck growled. "It's bad enough that I'm this close to you, without having to hear you too."

"I should make a list," Carter continued, as though he hadn't spoken, "Of everything you've messed up since Bart left you in charge. I don't know what he was thinking."

And at that, Chuck snapped. He just wanted to get to his wife, damnit. "If you don't mind me asking," he sneered, "What_is _your obsession with my father? Is it because your own daddy doesn't love you? You can't steal mine, Baizen. And your attempts at making me look bad won't work."

"I don't need to attempt anything," Carter shot back. "You do that all by yourself."

Chuck glared at him. "Why can't you find some other company to weasel your way into? Surely you've done what your father wanted now? You're back in the Baizen fold." Seriously, where the hell _were _his maintenance staff? "Is it purely to torture me? Because if so, I'm flattered." His eyes blackened. "But don't you think you've done enough of that already?You're lucky I haven't killed you for what you did to Blair."

Carter snorted. "Oh, I'm terrified. But Blair has already taken her revenge. So you can keep your pathetic death threats to yourself."

"What revenge," Chuck demanded, "Could ever pay you back for what you did?"

Carter gave him a funny look. "You know what I'm talking about. Don't pretend you didn't have some part in it either."

But for once, Chuck actually didn't know what he was talking about. "What?"

"The letter," Carter hissed. "The two of you must be so proud of yourselves. Stealing my PI and using him to make sure Serena married _Humphrey_. A worthless gallery owner - what an achievement." His voice was ripe with bitterness.

Chuck frowned. He didn't know anything about a letter. He knew Blair had made an effort to contact Humphrey to get him to find Serena - but she hadn't mentioned Carter in any of this. In any case, he scoffed, because that wasn't the point. "Did you really think Blair would help you after what happened?"

"I gave her back the necklace," Carter snapped in answer. "I prised the stupid thing out of Goergina's hand, didn't I?"

Chuck gave him a look of sheer disbelief. "You're right, that more than makes up for kidnapping and torturing her."

Carter ignored him. "I'm trying to help you now. Adrian Montgommery is bad news."

"So you keep saying," Chuck drawled. "But I've yet to see any proof, other than the fact that I got him before you did."

The other man ground his teeth. "Look, regardless of what I did in the past - I care about Bass Industries." Chuck just rolled his eyes at that. How stupid did Baizen think he was? "You don't understand. I know Montgommery." Carter swallowed. "I knew him in Los Angeles. His family are one of the ones I owed money to. My father has paid my debts off, but I still stole from them. And they don't forget."

There was the sound of knocking on the door above them. "Hello? We're just getting the elevator working again - there seems to have been a problem with lever. We should have you out in a few minutes."

Chuck groaned in relief. "Finally." He just prayed Blair was still in the restaurant. Lunch was out of the question now that he was an hour late - but at the very least, he could grovel. Or she could yell at him.

"Bass." Carter cut into his thoughts, impatient.

Chuck spared Carter a glance. "Frankly," he said coldly, "Any enemy of yours is a friend of mine."

* * *

Adrian escorted Blair out of the restaurant and insisted on walking her home. Truthfully, she'd found talking to him surprisingly easy. He really was very charming. Which made it all the more concerning that he didn't have a wife. She could see him talking his way into Serena's life very easily.

Adrian proffered his hand, glancing at the way the breeze played with Blair's immaculate curls. Then his gaze skimmed over her head, to where an all too familiar figure was hurrying towards the restaurant they'd just left. Had Blair turned round at that moment, she would have seen her husband straight away.

"Is that Central Park?" He directed her attention in the opposite direction, pointing to the vast expanse of green. "I've heard it's very beautiful."

"It is," Blair smiled. "You should see the duck pond."

Adrian offered her another brilliant smile in return. "I don't suppose you have the time to show me now?"

He saw the flicker of uncertainty cross her face. And just like that, she'd withdrawn. "I don't think that would be very proper," she responded. Stiff.

He dropped his gaze. "Forgive me." His smile was sad now, half wry. "I think maybe being new in a big city is starting to take its toll." His eyes met hers. "I'm just feeling a little cut off from human contact, and I enjoyed your company so much...I forgot myself. I'm sorry."

She regarded him for a moment before she accepted his apology. "In any case, I need to get back. I have other arrangements."

Adrian gave her a look of admiration. "You never stop, do you?" He took her hand briefly, now that they'd arrived at her building. "Well, thank you for a lovely lunch. And I'm truly sorry about your husband." He gave her a little wink. "I'll have a word with him at the office, if you wish."

Blair's grimace was sweet. "Oh, that won't be necessary." She had plenty of punishment in mind for her husband. "Good day, Mr. Montgommery."

He watched her go, eyes fixed on her retreating back. He realised he hadn't been lying, either, when he'd said he was enjoying her company. He'd found himself telling her more about himself than he'd intended to, and it had left him a little confused. He told himself it was just an attempt to lure her in - but it hadn't been part of the plan. He gave his head a brief shake. Sure, she was a beautiful girl. Who said he couldn't mix business with pleasure?

* * *

"Dan Humphrey?"

Dan looked up from sweeping the gallery floor. Sometimes he wasn't sure why he bothered, considering it was almost permanently empty.

The blond man moved forwards, proffering his hand. "Jack Dawson." He glanced around the deserted room. "I wanted to book this place for an exhibition."

Dan nearly choked. "What?"

"I'm an artist," Jack started to explain.

"I know," Dan interrupted, still stuttering a little. "I mean, I know who you are. I just...uh, don't really understand why you're _here_?"

Jack laughed. "Let's just say I've heard good things about this place."

Dan could only gawp. "From who? Don't get me wrong, I like the place, but...well, I wasn't aware anyone else did." He swallowed. "And you're one of Manhattan's best artists."

The man glanced at him for a moment. "Well, I never used to be." He gazed around once more. "So, what do you say?"

Dan was so dazed he practically tripped over himself in his eagerness to accept.

* * *

Blair managed to repress another eye-roll as Penelope started yet another story about her fantastic British husband. They were married as of a month, and clearly Penelope was milking it for all it was worth. And the worst thing? Her husband was Lord Marcus. Blair's loss was a great source of delight for Penelope.

"And once this ghastly war is out of the way, we'll be back in Marcus' ancestral home. Cameron - you remember, my brother?" There was a slight dig, a pointed look. Yes, Blair remembered Cameron. "He keeps saying that there's no place like..."

Blair strove to tune out the rest of Penelope's monologue, interspersing it with interested nods. And then she tried not to look too relieved when they were interrupted by a maid.

"Mrs. Bass? I'm sorry, but your husband is down in the foyer. He requested your presence?"

Blair's eyes narrowed instantly. "He did, did he?" So he turned up after abandoning her at lunch, and he expected her to just drop her schedule for him? He had another think coming. In fact - how dare he? "Well," she informed the maid sweetly, "You can tell Mr. Bass that I'm occupied at the moment, and he can wait." Her expression darkened. "I did." And with that, she turned back to Penelope. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

Penelope raised an eyebrow, but was more than happy to go back to talking about herself. "I was telling you about Cameron's wife. You know, she's expecting her first child." Clearly the aim was to point out how well Cameron had done for himself. Another failure of Blair's. Penelope smirked. "And they've only been married a few months." Blair suddenly had a nasty feeling she could tell where this conversation was going. "So, are you and Chuck-"

"As a matter of fact," Blair leapt to her feet, "Speaking of Chuck - I probably should go and see what he wants. I really shouldn't leave him waiting in the foyer like this!" She was already halfway out the door. "I'm so sorry - I'll be right back!"

She departed as swiftly as decorum would allow. By the time she'd reached the foyer, though, she'd drawn herself up. If Chuck thought he was going to get away with this -

He was waiting for her, peonies in hand. His dark hair was swept by the wind, and she tried to ignore quite how devilishly handsome he looked.

"You're three hours too late," she informed him icily. She folded her arms, glaring at him. He ignored it, of course, moving forwards with that smirk.

"I'm sorry." There was genuine apology in his eyes - which she made a point of ignoring right back. He moved even closer, catching her arm as he held out the flowers; close enough that his breath mixed with his cologne, already assaulting her senses. "Would you believe me if I said I was stuck in an elevator?"

She promptly turned her nose up. "No, I'd say that was the worst excuse ever." She tossed her hair, and he couldn't help but think what an adorable sight she made. Lips pinched, arms still folded and those brown eyes full of reproach. "If you think you can just turn up here with flowers and everything will magically-"

She was cut off as he scooped her into his arms, squeaking in alarm as she found herself being carried bridal-style out of the building.

"Charles Bartholomew Bass! Put me down this instant!" She wriggled in his grasp, indignant as she tried to push at his chest. "What are you doing? I happen to be in the middle of tea with-"

"Penelope," he filled in, ignoring her protests, "Who you hate." He was quite calm as he carried her to the waiting car, unaffected by her blows.

"This is downright degrading!" Blair shrieked. She attracted a look from a rather taken aback doorman. She sent him a glower of disdain, but made sure to hide in Chuck's shoulder afterwards. If anyone else saw her - oh God, she would be ruined.

She was going to kill him. "You left me waiting at lunch-"

He dropped her into the car, following and pulling the door shut as he tugged her into his arms again, mouth on hers. She found herself quite unable to resist as his lips covered hers, hot and familiar. He finally paused long enough to smirk down at her. His hazel eyes gleamed golden in the passing streetlights. "I thought a rescue mission might redeem me."

"Dragging me out like a caveman is not rescuing me."

But they were both aware of the lack of conviction behind her words, and his smirk broadened. He kissed her again, lips coaxing hers as his fingers slid round her waist. His voice was a low murmur against her neck. "Then let me make it up to you tonight..."

* * *

**A/N - So...um, yes, I am meant to be revising. Who knew it would take the prospect of memorising verb tables for inspiration to strike? I really am going to get back to work now. And if I update within the next two weeks, it means I will in all likelihood fail my exams. But I just thought I'd post this little chapter! **

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews. **

**Also, just to clarify - I realised too late that Jack Dawson unfortunately shares a name with Chuck's uncle. But Uncle Jack will NOT be making an appearance in this story. Jack Dawson is based on the Titanic character (****ie not a villain.) Just to make that clear! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Exams are finally over! And here is an update, as promised...**

* * *

"The radiant Blair Bass," Serena read, grinning broadly, "Is a spokeswoman for all ladies of the Upper East Side - exuding class and elegance in everything she does. Her numerous achievements include-"

"All right, S," Blair interceded. She was smirking, though. Just a little bit. "You can stop there."

Serena gave her a playful nudge. "Like you haven't read it a hundred times already."

Blair pretended to have no idea what she was talking about. "I would never do something so vain." (Chuck had taken great pleasure in quoting it to her over breakfast; talking about her success always made her really -) She hastily shut the thought off, remembering that she was in public.

They were interrupted as the door to Kati's parlour opened, and the maid introduced one Jenny Dalgaard. Kati looked up with confusion at the blonde. "Why are you so late?"

Jenny took her place in the circle of ladies, determined, sending Blair a quick glower. "Somebody told me we were meeting at half noon."

Blair's face was the picture of innocence. "Oops. Silly me."

Serena shook her head to herself, repressing an exasperated smile. She did feel sorry for Dan's little sister though, and shuffled back to make more room for her.

"So," Jenny forced. She _would_ be included. "What were you all talking about?"

"Haven't you seen?" Iz looked at her in incredulity, and Jenny realised they were all pouring over a newspaper. "Blair's been chosen by the Observer as the role model of the Upper East Side."

Kati beamed. "New York's leading lady." They tittered amongst themselves, already turning back to the pages.

Jenny felt her stomach swoop again. Knocked aside, again. How was she ever supposed to measure up to that? The newspapers had no idea who Jenny Dalgaard was. The most she got was a mention as the ambassador's wife.

How had Blair managed to carve a path for herself when she was married to one of Manhattan's most powerful men?

Blair was making a point of ignoring her, now. She spoke only to her minions and Serena, clearly determined to cut Jenny out as much as possible. And it made Jenny's blood boil. Hadn't she climbed just as hard? Why was it _still_ not enough?

As the conversation washed over her, she tried to work out what to do. It was obvious that she would never measure up to Blair in terms of power or status. What she needed was something that Blair didn't. And, glancing at the other girl's perfect, slender frame - that was when it occurred to her.

But she paused. Because the idea was twisted. Too far, even. And from what she'd learnt, it was the only thing she could hurt Blair with. It was almost a scary thought - but it was thrilling too. There _was _a way she could get to Blair. There was something she could do. Something she could hold over her. She glanced at Blair again. If only she dared to.

"Is there a problem, Jennifer?" Blair's tone was acidic. "Is there a reason why you keep looking at me?" (She'd seen something in Jenny's eyes. She was sure of it.)

All the girls turned to look at the blonde, and Jenny felt herself flushing. "No."

"Then find someone else to stare at," Blair sighed. There was a note of sharpness underneath it. (What was Jenny up to? Something sneaky.) "I'm finding it quite tiresome."

A slight laugh from Kati and Iz - Serena attempted a sympathetic smile at the girl, but Jenny just read it as more condescension.

Well, she'd show them all. She'd gone far enough already - why stop now? And she owed Blair nothing.

"Actually," Jenny cut in - and this time Blair definitely sensed something in her voice. "There was something I wanted to ask Serena." She paused, waiting till she had all their attention, before biting her lip shyly. "I think I might be with child."

And just like that, the Observer article fluttered to the ground, forgotten.

* * *

Adrian could hardly believe his luck when he saw Blair leave the building. He'd taken his lunch break to follow her, again, but had assumed that she'd be at her friend's penthouse the entire time.

And now here she was, leaving alone - and he still had a good half an hour left. He watched her from the taxi cab, and couldn't help but notice that she seemed upset. Her walk was more determined than usual, her petite shoulders tense. He slid out of the car and followed her at a distance.

She was certainly a fast walker, for a lady; he almost lost her before he realised she was headed for the park. Central Park, to be precise. Luck was on his side yet again - she wasn't going home. Now all he needed to do was stage a run-in. He remembered their conversation from the other day. The duck pond. He hesitated outside the park. There was a bakery across the road. Swiftly, he crossed, pulling out the money to buy a fresh loaf of bread.

Which was exactly how he 'ran in' to Blair, armed with food for the ducks. She was standing alone, arms wrapped around herself as she gazed across the water. She looked cold despite the summer's heat. He pretended he hadn't seen her, tearing off a hunk of bread and tossing it into the water to catch her attention.

She jumped.

"Mr. Montgommery." She stared at him, clearly taken aback. "We meet again." There was the faintest edge of distrust to her voice, and he knew he had to play this carefully.

He made an almost guilty face. "Oh dear. I was hoping you wouldn't catch me." He gave her a sheepish smile on top of it all, green eyes glittering in the sunlight. "I took your advice the other day," he admitted. "Thought I'd have a look at the duck pond." He gestured at the bread in his arms. "I have to confess that I know so little about this place that I couldn't think of anything else to do in my lunch break. Besides going to the Algonquin again." He pulled a face. "And now I've been exposed as childish as well as dull."

She found herself vaguely amused despite it all. He'd played it right. He saw the ghost of a smile in her eyes and was filled with a sense of satisfaction.

"Feeding the ducks is highly childish," she agreed.

He grinned, holding out the loaf. "I don't suppose I can tempt you? Make myself feel any less foolish?"

She pursed her lips. "I suppose. To lessen your humiliation." He found himself still smiling as her lips twitched and she tore off a piece of the bread. He resisted the temptation to take her slender fingers as they closed around the loaf.

She resumed her normal distance after that, though.

And some of that melancholy crept back in as her gaze returned to the water.

"I meant to say," - he needed to distract her, fast - "I read that piece in the Observer about you. And I'm very impressed."

But it didn't have the effect he'd wanted. Something else flickered in her eyes as she managed a polite smile. She thanked him, shortly.

There was a brief silence, and he moved a little closer to her. Ever so subtly; she was too busy focusing on the water and commanding herself not to cry (cry? What was there to cry about? She was Blair Bass. Jenny was a nobody) to notice.

"I hope this doesn't sound too forward..." Adrian let his voice dip gently as he gazed at her. "But are you all right? You seem upset."

Blair's mouth tightened. "Of course not. I'm fine." She remembered her manners, sparing him a glance. "But thank you for your concern."

She was fine. (Fine). So what if _Jenny Humphrey _could have children? Why was she back to obsessing over babies yet again? She was powerful. She had everything she wanted. She was fine.

* * *

Serena was mid fixing her hair and worrying about her best friend when there was a noise at the door. She'd tried to follow Blair, earlier, sensing that all was not right, but the other girl had been quick to shut her down. She'd assured Serena that she was busy. So she'd let her go - but the two of them needed to talk.

Now, though, her husband was standing - awkwardly - at the door. He was in their penthouse. As in, in the UES.

"Dan?" She stared, worrying on her lip as she half rose. "What are you doing here?"

Dan shifted on his feet. "Uh...I came to apologise. I mean...can we go back to how things used to be? To us?"

Serena's heart sank and she sighed, eyes flickering to the ceiling and then back to him. No. Not this again. "I'm not moving, Dan. This penthouse is ours. It's our home." She folded her arms.

Dan moved, jerkily, a little closer, hastening to explain. "No, I know," he insisted. "I'm not trying to get you to move, or come back to the loft - but I, well, I've missed you - and, what I'm trying to say is-" It was his turn to swallow as Serena gazed at him. "Look," he said finally. "I don't care where we live, all right? I just want to be with you. My wife."

Serena felt her eyes suddenly fill with tears. "Dan-" her voice choked a little.

"I love you," he promised. He moved closer, taking her hands in his. "And that's all that matters."

She sniffed. "Do you mean that?"

He held onto her hands. It had taken Jack to point it out to him - and he'd been right. The last thing he ever wanted to do was lose her. "Of course I do."

She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, and he breathed out in relief as he held her back. Serena buried her face in his shoulder. Everything was perfect again - he'd said exactly what she'd needed to hear. So why did it still feel wrong? Why did she still feel sick with guilt?

He grasped her hands, finally releasing her as he smiled at her. "And I have good news."

She managed a laugh. "I think I already know, Dan."

He looked momentarily confused. "You know about the exhibition?"

Serena blinked back in equal confusion. "What exhibition?"

Dan grinned. "I never thought I'd get the chance to say this, but...the gallery is sold out!" He was rewarded with a look of amazement from his wife.

"Dan, that's wonderful!"

He laughed. "Well, hopefully it will all work out fine. You know, I probably shouldn't get too sure of myself - you know what they say about counting chickens..." He realised he was babbling again and cut himself off, while Serena couldn't help but laugh. "Uh, but what was that thing you thought you knew?"

She smiled. "She said she wanted to keep it quiet...but I'm sure she won't mind me telling you." Her eyes were bright. "You're going to be an uncle!"

* * *

Adrian was still trying to work out what she was covering up. If he had to take a guess, it would be something to do with her husband. Who else produced that much of an effect? But he'd seen Bass at the offices today, and there hadn't been any obvious signs of trouble. (He'd worked out by now that whenever Chuck was in a good mood, it meant that he'd had a particularly good night with Blair. And if that wasn't enough to make anyone envious of the man, Adrian didn't know what was).

Still, he'd hedge his bets. "You're lucky," he commented. "Most men wouldn't be able to handle their wives getting that much attention. Having that much influence..."

He knew he was off the mark from the look of slight disdain she gave him. "I can assure you that my husband enjoys having an equal for a wife," she informed him frostily.

Damn.

He grinned. "And a superior wife?"

"You should try reading the Post sometime, Mr. Montgommery," she responded. "There was an article last week about Manhattan's most powerful men. I think you'll find Chuck is anything but inferior."

All right, it wasn't marriage problems. (More was the pity).

Well, if her marriage was perfect, her status and reputation flawless...what could she be missing? And then the answer formed itself, all to easily. Of course. Women's greatest concern.

He followed her gaze to the pond, searching for an opening. And it seemed Luck well and truly was on his side that day - because there was a brood of ducklings skimming the pond. He knew she was watching them too. Which was what told him his guess had been right.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" he sighed.

She arched an eyebrow. "Ducks?"

"Babies," he corrected with a faint smile.

It only betrayed itself in the briefest glimmer in those brown eyes. He'd hit the nail on the head.

"I think I've been here too long," she announced tightly. "I should be getting back." She nodded her head at him, already turning to leave.

He swore under his breath, because that hadn't been what he'd wanted at all. He hurried after her, stopping her as he caught her arm. She looked at his hand in appalled shock, but he didn't let go.

"Blair," he said, softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

She jerked her arm out his grasp. "You didn't. If you'll excuse me, Mr Montgommery." She made a point of using his last name, but he caught her again. More gently this time.

"There's something I haven't told you." How had he misjudged this quite so badly? He was usually a master at manipulating people. "When you asked me if I had a wife...I lied. I mean, I had a wife. She died in childbirth." He took a deep breath. "The child too."

Blair had gone very still. He read it as a sign to move closer. His hand brushed hers, fingers running over the skin as he traced her wrist. "I know what it feels like," he murmured. "Wanting a child." Blair remained rigid, and his thumb caressed the fine veins under her skin. His other hand lifted to her cheek, catching a teardrop that she'd refused to let fall. "I don't want you to be unhappy."

She felt physically sick.

She yanked herself back, stumbling away. And he realised too late that the expression in her eyes was one of disgust.

"How dare you?" she hissed. Her voice shook. "Don't - ever - touch me again. And _don't_ presume to act like you know me. You don't."

And with that, she whirled away before he could catch her. She moved as fast as she could, bile still rising in her throat as she fled.

Adrian grabbed the loaf of bread and hurled it into the water, furious, and it smacked across the still surface, scattering the ducks far and wide.

* * *

She'd fled straight to Bass Industries, thinking that the heat of her Chuck's arms was all she wanted - but as she climbed the elevator, nausea threatened to drown her, and she realised she didn't think she could face him. Chuck alone would know straight away that something was wrong - and he'd guess exactly what, too - and she didn't think she could handle that at the moment. Whining to him about babies again. She didn't want to be that weak in front of him. Not when he had enough to deal with.

And the thought of telling him about Montgommery also made her feel a little ill. Why on earth had she let herself spend all that time with him? Alone? She felt even more sickened as she remembered thinking how good-looking he was. Idiot. She was an _idiot. _

She couldn't do that to Chuck - she couldn't tell him she'd ruined the one thing that he was proud of at the moment. He was holding onto Montgommery as the only thing that would please his father. She couldn't start accusing the man unless she had actual proof - Chuck would believe her, that much she knew, and then he'd start doubting himself.

She felt too sick to even think about it.

The elevator reached its destination and she paused. She could go back down now. She gazed out into the corridor, to the door to her husband's room...and then beyond that. And then an idea formed, and before she could convince herself not to, she strode out.

She approached the oak door and knocked, smartly. She didn't wait for him to let her in, either, and found herself faced with a pair of raised eyebrows.

"Aren't you in the wrong office?" he enquired.

She folded her arms, closing the door as she took a seat opposite him. "You need to tell me everything you know about Adrian Montgommery. And I want the truth, Baizen."

* * *

Jenny hesitated only momentarily outside of the Waldorf penthouse, and not just because of how intimidating Eleanor was. She wasn't particularly looking forward to Damien's reaction - they hadn't slept together in several months, as he well knew - but she no longer cared about her husband's opinion. She'd worked out how to control him. It was more her brother and father's reaction.

All she could bank on was the fact that Serena and Dan weren't speaking at the moment. But Dan would find out sooner or later. And Jenny didn't think she could deal with his inevitable excitement.

She'd experienced a moment of panic once she was finally left to herself, out of the centre of all the girls' attention. What the hell had she done? Faking a pregnancy? What exactly was she going to do when no baby came? But then it had sunk in that she'd actually managed to defeat Blair. That was all that mattered. She'd made herself matter - she could work out the rest later. Couldn't she fake a miscarriage? (That idea did repulsed her as much as it scared her. Would she really go that far?)

She hardened herself, remembering the way Blair's eyes had skimmed over her for the thousandth time. No more, she promised herself again. She'd won the first battle already. There was no going back now. She'd set out to get everything that Blair couldn't - and she would succeed.

She smiled as she was let in to the luxurious building.

"Mrs. Waldorf? I'm Jenny Dalgaard. It's an honour to finally meet you."

Eleanor regarded with girl suspiciously. "What can I do for you, Mrs Dalgaard?"

Jenny swallowed. "Actually, Mr. Harrison sent me over." Mr. Harrison - another of Damien's clients. "For the exhibition of your clothes?"

The matriarch's eyebrows drew together. "What about it?"

Jenny lifted her head. "He wants me to be the face of Waldorf Designs."

* * *

"He's nasty," Carter told her frankly. "He knows the right things to say, and he's perfected his charming veneer - but he's one of the worst, underneath it all."

Blair frowned. "What do you mean?"

Carter shifted in his seat. "Just believe me when I say that he's dangerous. And not just by Upper East Side standards." He tried to put it into terms that she would understand - they were used to dangerous people, after all. "I'm talking Georgina Sparks dangerous." Surely that was the worst level that she could relate to.

"He's psychotic?"

But Carter shook his head. "No. Too clever for that. Georgie had snapped by the end of it - but Montgommery's always in control.

"When I first moved to Los Angeles, I heard the rumours about him. The Montgommerys are one of the most powerful families in the city. His father was supposedly even worse - rumour had it he'd killed his wife."

Blair gave him a skeptical look, and he rolled his eyes.

"You don't think that wasn't my reaction too? I told them it was all bullshit. Stories made up to make sure people didn't cross them."

"And then you found out they were all true?" Blair interjected archly.

He responded with a slight glare. "No. Do you want to hear this, or not? Because I have work to do."

Truthfully, though, he'd sensed that there was something wrong. And he needed her to believe him - especially if Montgommery had done anything to her. So he was relieved when she shut up and let him continue.

"That was the point," he went on. "No one ever knew. But I know what I saw. And trust me - destroying people is a way of life for Adrian. He'll go to any lengths - and he doesn't care either way. Just says it has to be done. There are people who have crossed him-"

"And their bodies have been found floating in the river?" Blair couldn't quite stop herself.

Carter's scowl was instant. "No wonder Bass is in love with you," he snapped. "You're almost as irritating as he is."

She smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."

He rolled his eyes. But he'd noticed that she seemed to have calmed down a little from whatever it was that had made her so tense before.

"What did he do to you?" he asked abruptly, studying her.

"Nothing." Her reply was as instant as it was unconvincing. "I'm asking the questions here, Baizen. Now tell me what happens to people who cross him."

He snorted, but went back to the story. "They never get away with it. He hunts them down, and he doesn't stop till they have nothing left. I've never met anyone more ruthless." He gave her a look. "And you know what that means, coming from me."

Blair considered his words. "Why isn't he going after you, then? Didn't you cross him?"

"That's my point," Carter insisted. "When I first saw him, I assumed that was what he was after. But he would have done it by now. And I think the only thing that would distract him is a bigger goal."

The brunette glanced at him. "Like Bass Industries?"

"It would make sense," he pointed out. "Bart's weak at the moment - it's the perfect time to strike."

"Do you think he has a grudge against Bart, then?"

Carter shrugged. "It's the only explanation I can think of. Maybe Montgommery and Bass used to be partners, or something."

Blair paused for a moment. "And how can I be sure you're not making this all up?" She already knew the answer - but she wanted to see his response. Perhaps part of her was wondering how far she could really trust him.

"You don't," he answered, as expected. "But clearly he's done something to upset you - and, loath though I am to admit it, your perception of people tends to be abnormally sharp."

She accepted that for the compliment it was, too. But she didn't leave it there. "Why are you taking the time to warn us? Surely if he's busy with Bass Industries, it means he's not coming after you?"

Carter scoffed. "You don't think he'll come after me the second he destroys the company?"

"So why don't you run?" Blair challenged.

Carter's jaw hardened for the briefest moment. "Maybe I've had enough of running," he bit at last. "If memory serves, it hasn't done much to help me."

Blair had a feeling he was talking about something else - or rather, someone else - but he changed the subject before she could ask. And a steely look had entered his eyes, now, as he gazed across at her.

"The real question is, what are we going to do about it?"

* * *

**A/N - I apologise for the lack of C/B interaction...but there will be more next chapter!**

**Thank you so much for all your reviews :) **


	9. Chapter 9

Chuck poured the amber liquid steadily into the glass, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat. It still didn't quite remove the bitter taste from his mouth, though.

He'd just got back from another visit to Bart. More of the man's coldness. And this time, Chuck really couldn't seem to do anything right. They'd almost come to a full argument when Bart had made a point of bringing up Carter. Checking that Chuck was co-operating with him, reminding him of what a good worker he was. Chuck's attempts to point out otherwise had led to the usual irritated snap for him to grow up.

He leaned back from the mahogany desk and rubbed his temples. (Though rubbing his temples only worked when a certain other person did it for him). He downed the rest of his drink before rising from his study desk and switching off the light.

Blair was at the vanity of their bedroom in just a white slip, brushing her hair. He moved to stand behind her, dropping a kiss to her bare neck as his arms slid around her shoulders. His eyes drank in her reflection in the soft light of their room. She set the brush down, and his hand smoothed over her handiwork, running down the familiar grooves of her spine. She turned to kiss him, tasting the scotch, and he pulled her up and over to the bed.

"What's wrong?" he murmured as he nuzzled into her neck, wrapping his arms round her rib cage so that she was nestled into the curve of his body. She smelt of jasmine and rose bathwater, the irresistably sweet scent of her skin underneath. She glanced up at him, dark curls fanning over the pillow, and smiled.

"Nothing, Bass. I'm tired."

But there had been something all weekend. She was fine as long as they were talking about Chuck, or she was defending him from Bart – but aside from that, there was a sense of unease about her. A distance. Chuck couldn't quite put his finger on it, either, and it had been getting under his skin.

He tugged her back round to him, pinning her under him.

"Blair," he growled. "What is it?"

She curved her small hand on his cheek as she kissed him. "I told you, nothing." Her fingers threaded through his hair as her tone grew a little fiercer. "I just don't want you to let Bart get to you." Watching their interaction had been physically painful. As had the tightness in Chuck's shoulders.

"I won't," he murmured. A lie and they both knew it, and she felt another little twist of love as she gazed up at the set of his jaw. She buried a trail of kisses against it as she pushed herself tighter into his arms, arms curling around his neck.

"I love you."

He squeezed her back, settling against the pillows as his chin slotted over her head. His last thought before he drifted off was that he going to get it out of her, whatever it took.

Hers was that she was going to protect him. Whatever it took.

* * *

Chuck buttoned his shirt up in the semi-darkness of the bedroom, eyes scanning the morning headlines before he went to work. He could hear Blair's muffled breathing in the background; she'd woken briefly as he'd got up, drowsily expecting a kiss, and then fallen straight back asleep.

He was in the middle of skimming a piece about Victrola when his gaze caught the name Waldorf on the opposite page. Waldorf Designs, to be exact.

And his brow furrowed in disbelief as he read the article.

Eleanor had picked _Jenny Dalgaard _as the face of Waldorf Designs. Was this some sort of joke? What the hell was Eleanor thinking?

He felt his chest tighten as he glanced over at his sleeping wife. Her face was peaceful, dark tresses spread over the white of the bedsheets and pale skin translucent in the dawn light. He knew Eleanor, but this was low. Even for her. He screwed up the paper, shoving it into his bag. He knew she'd find out eventually, but it didn't need to be first thing in the morning.

He left her a note instead of the newspaper - _Rise and shine, beautiful. You have lunch plans with your husband at 12 - _and made a mental note to book her favourite French restaurant. He could spend the hour agreeing in great length that Mrs. Dalgaard was a social climbing whore, and then hopefully distract her afterwards...He left a final kiss on her cheek, mouth softening, and curled her hair behind her ear as he glanced down at her one last time. Bloody Eleanor.

* * *

He had the misfortune of another elevator journey with Carter on the way up to his office. He could only pray that this one wouldn't break down - or he'd be having serious words with some of his staff.

"How's Bart?" Carter broke the silence, voice curt.

Had Chuck not been quite so sore about the subject, or quite so frustrated at Carter's presence, he might have noticed the smallest hint of something genuine, underneath it all. Or not - since it was Carter. In any case, all he heard was the sneer.

"Why?" he snapped back. "Are you hoping the moment he goes you'll have a clear shot at my legacy? Sorry to disappoint, but he's fine."

Why did the idea of Carter asking after his father aggravate him quite so much? Like they were so close. Just hearing the man's name pass his lips set Chuck's teeth on edge.

Carter pressed his lips together. "Well, I'm sure a visit from you didn't do anything to help." It was one of his usual digs at Chuck's incompetence, but exactly the wrong thing to say after the weekend he'd had.

"Fuck off, Baizen," Chuck spat. He stalked out of the elevator before Carter could point out what a pathetic comeback that was - but he was too furious to care.

* * *

Blair had been occupied with the Purcells all morning, and for once they'd just seemed to get in the way - she couldn't stop thinking about Chuck or Montgommery. She was on the way to Chuck's office, now, to tell him that she couldn't do lunch. Carter had already set up a meeting with his private investigator for her, and she needed to get him straight on Montgommery's path. They needed to find out for sure if the man - or his father, perhaps - had a grudge against Bart.

But she was halfway across the foyer when she saw Montgommery himself. He paused in front of her, running his hands through his golden hair. His voice was soft and insistent.

"Mrs Bass."

She, however, moved straight past him. "Mr. Montgommery."

He reached out to stop her, and her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't even think about it." His proximity was still making her feel a little ill, those green eyes trying to lure her in.

"Please, Blair, let me apologise-"

"Please address me by my correct title," she cut in. "We're not friends."

Adrian ground his teeth. "All I was doing was trying to help you." He gazed down at her, and she didn't think she'd ever trusted anyone less. "I know I went too far, but I just wanted to let you know that I understand some of your pain. That was all. You're not alone." Blair felt her blood curdle again - she already knew, thanks to Baizen, that Adrian had never had a wife. Exactly how sick was he?

She pushed past him. "Frankly, I could care less. If you'll excuse me." She wasn't going to let that investigator stop till he'd dug up every last bit of dirt on the ooze.

Adrian's eyes hardened as he watched her leave. And then he followed her, mouth set.

* * *

He was waiting silently for her outside of her husband's door. Hidden round the corner and ready to stop her. The door opened, then closed - blocking her husband out, and Adrian could see that her lips were swollen with the man's kisses - but before he could move after her, Baizen joined her.

Adrian stopped in surprise that only deepened when the two started talking. He'd been under the assumption that Blair hated Carter as much as her husband did. Although their exchange now wasn't exactly friendly.

"He'd better be good, Baizen."

"The best that money can buy," Carter assured her impatiently. "But I don't see why I can't just-"

"Because you're Carter Baizen," Blair snapped back, "And I need to know I can trust him for myself."

Baizen rolled his eyes. "Fine."

They'd reached the elevator by now, and Adrian had missed his chance to stop her altogether. But he was more curious as to what on earth they'd been talking about.

* * *

Chuck couldn't shake the sense of discomfort rubbing him raw as he tried to focus on the papers at his desk. There had been something wrong with her, again. She'd been lying to him. He knew because he knew her. And whatever she was doing now, it wasn't lunch with Serena.

He'd been of half mind to have her followed, but he knew that wouldn't solve anything. (She'd be furious if she found out. And she would find out). It wasn't like he didn't trust her - he was just worried. He wondered if she'd found out about Waldorf Designs, and was maybe on the way to talk to either Jenny or Eleanor. If that were the case, he knew she'd be embarrassed and would never admit it.

But there was something else, and he was sure of it.

He was interrupted by Adrian - for once, a welcome distraction.

"Mr. Bass." He smiled. "I was worried I'd have missed you. Didn't you have lunch plans with your wife?"

"She had to cancel," Chuck answered shortly. He saw something flicker in the man's eyes and paused for a moment, studying him. His own eyes narrowed. "Is there a problem?"

Adrian hesitated. He checked the door was shut before moving a little closer.

"Can I be honest, Mr. Bass? I like working for you. I like your style."

Chuck arched an eyebrow. "But?"

The other man sighed. "I'm sure you've heard of my history with Baizen." A grimace crossed his face. "It's not like he's made much of a secret of it. So I'm sure you understand when I say I don't trust him. Never have."

"The feeling's mutual," Chuck assured him grimly. "He's a worm."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "I think he's manipulating your wife."

Chuck stared for a moment in slight disbelief. For one thing, because he highly doubted Carter, of all people, would be able to do that to her. She knew him as well as Chuck did. His tone was hard when he eventually replied. "And what makes you say that?"

"I'm sure this is none of my business, but I know what I heard. She's meeting him for lunch today."

Chuck scoffed. "I doubt it."

Adrian returned his gaze evenly. "Why did she say she was cancelling on you?"

There was a silence. Yes, she'd been lying. But why the hell would she be meeting Carter?

"Look," Adrian insisted. "I don't want to stir up trouble. But I'm sick of watching Baizen get away with these things. He gets under my skin. It's disgusting."

Chuck was still trying to work it out. The only possible reason he could think of Blair agreeing to meet Carter was Serena. Of course. One of her biggest weaknesses - which Carter well knew. Chuck felt his blood boil. Had Carter not done enough to Blair already? This was the last thing she needed.

"Do you know where they went?" he growled.

"No," Adrian admitted.

Chuck's face darkened in frustration. The second Baizen got back, he was going to corner him and work out just what he was playing at. And tell him to stay the hell away from his wife.

* * *

Jenny smiled to herself as she read the article again. A piece in the Times. It was nowhere near Blair standards - but Jenny knew the other girl would see it. Another area for her to succeed in where the brunette had failed. She was getting noticed, finally.

She heard her husband's faint scoff from the doorway. He was glaring at her. "So, how's the baby?"

Jenny ignored him. She re-read the article instead, smiling again as she skimmed over words like _pale beauty_ and _woman on the rise. _Yes, and she was aiming straight for the top.

"You realise there's one little problem with your plan," Damien sneered.

She rolled her eyes. She'd gradually been working her way towards a false miscarriage, and she didn't want to think about that at the moment - because she had several months of attention before it would be an issue. And if she convinced Damien to sleep with her, maybe she even would have the proof at the end.

"The maids know we haven't slept together in weeks." There was a note of gloating in his voice. "How are you planning on keeping them quiet?" Jenny stopped. She realised, horrified, that she hadn't thought of that. Damien smirked a little at her reaction. "Not so smart now, are you?"

Her mind cast about for an escape. "They don't know everything," she insisted. "We went away in March."

Her husband gave her a look of condescension. "That was three months ago."

Jenny wracked her brains till she seized on an idea. "Well, maybe I've just been covering it up." Her eyes gleamed. "I didn't want to tell anyone till I was sure. And I've been hiding it in my dresses."

"And that sounds remotely believable because?"

Jenny smiled in satisfaction. Actually, it fit very well into the plans she'd already laid. "Because I alter my own dresses. And this is the perfect way to introduce Eleanor to my new concept. Maternity wear."

Damien just stared, lip curling. "What?"

It was an idea Jenny had been formulating for a while. How to put the skills she had - that Blair didn't - to use? Jenny Humphrey had always been too poor to buy her own dresses. She'd made practically every last one; she was more than proficient, and she knew it.

And now she could combine two of Blair's failures for her own success - babies and Waldorf Designs. A lady designer was practically unheard of. As was the concept of clothes specifically designed for pregnancy.

So if Jenny succeeded, this would be her greatest triumph yet.

* * *

"We need to talk."

Chuck didn't bother waiting for permission to enter Carter's office. He stood, glaring the man down - and itching to wipe that satisfied expression and cool gaze off his face.

"What is it?" Carter drawled.

"I want you to leave Blair alone," Chuck snapped. "Whatever it is you're planning, you can stop right there."

Carter rolled his eyes. "Much as I enjoy tormenting you, I'm not doing anything to Blair. Why don't you calm down, Bass?"

Chuck's eyes blazed. "Really? Because manipulating her into lunch with you might suggest otherwise. What the hell were you doing?"

Carter's expression remained diffident. "Maybe you should ask your wife that," he shot back. It occurred to him that someone else might have just told the truth, but he was pissed at Bass for storming in and accusing him. Who did Chuck think he was? And it irritated him, a little, that he really thought he'd go after Blair again. Especially given Carter was actually_ helping_ the man - and he was finding that difficult enough. "Get out of my office," he sighed. "Unlike you, I have work to do."

"Just leave Blair out of it," Chuck snarled. His eyes glinted, cold and deadly, and his voice was suddenly grim. "Because when I find out what you're up to, I'm going to destroy you."

Carter scowled once the Bass heir had left. "Oh, I'm quivering in my boots." Why exactly, he thought for the thousandth time, was he trying to _save_ this guy?

* * *

Blair shrugged off her shawl as she entered the penthouse, pausing. She frowned. "Chuck?"

His coat was hanging up - he was back early. She moved into the drawing room, searching for him. And he was waiting for her.

"Blair."

She knew that voice. And at that moment that voice was not her friend. Still, she maintained her brightness. "I'm just going to get some tea."

She hurried into the kitchen. It was clear he wanted to talk - and she definitely didn't. She'd been feeling tighter and tighter all day, further wound up with the knowledge that she was deceiving him. She never had qualms about deceiving anyone other than Chuck - usually because he, alone, always knew. She was dreading being honest with him. Dreading looking that weak. She needed to get Montgommery out of the way first. She needed to focus on that.

She was just pouring from the teapot when a hand caught her wrist.

His fingers slid around her, and she found herself being turned into the heat of his gaze. He had her trapped against the work surface as his hazel eyes studied her. Waiting.

"What's going on?"

She managed another smile. "Nothing."

"Why were you at lunch with Baizen today? What's he doing to you?"

Blair stilled. How had he found out?

"Nothing, Chuck," she insisted again. "He's not doing anything to me." She had to distract him from the lunch. "Do you know what I read today? It's-"

Chuck grabbed her wrists. He looked at her like he didn't quite understand - because when did he not know what she was thinking? Ever? "Blair. Tell me."

She squirmed a little. She couldn't do it. Not yet. She couldn't tell him about Montgommery. She was still embarrassed at herself - still all too aware that it would be yet another thing for him to worry about. She needed to fix this herself. Montgommery was still doing a good job with the accounts, at the moment, and she couldn't bring herself to tell Chuck that Carter had been right. If she could somehow drive Montgommery out of town without Chuck knowing -

"What's Carter doing to you?" he repeated in sheer frustration. "Because I'm going to kill him."

Blair hesitated. "Look, I think I misjudged him. I don't think he's up to anything."

Chuck stared at her, disbelieving. "Are you serious?" She couldn't be serious. This had to be some kind of sick joke. She could _not _be defending Carter Baizen.

Blair tried to take his face in her hands, tried to make him look at her and only her. Because this, she needed him to see. "I think he actually cares about Bass Industries. Chuck - for once, I don't think he's trying to destroy you. You trust me," she said firmly. "You know you can believe me." Because this was _them_ - he knew when she was right about something.

Chuck pulled out her grasp. "He's got to you too? Are you_ listening_ to yourself, Blair?" He caught her hands, furious. How did Baizen manage to worm his way in everywhere? After everything he'd done to her - to them - she'd _forgiven _him? This was Blair, for God's sake. He must have something over her. It was the only explanation Chuck could think of. Something else twigged at his memory, too - the letter Carter had mentioned. Did that have something to do with it? "What the hell has he said to you?"

She twisted away, trying to put a layer of annoyance between them. But it was guilt underneath it.

"Nothing," she answered again. He opened his mouth to retaliate, and she tried desperately to distract him. "Look, what happened to the dinner we were planning?"

She slipped her hands onto his shoulders, trying to pull his attention back to her body. "I don't know about you," she murmured, "But I was thinking...truffles. I could do with some indulgence after the day I've had, believe me." His shoulders were still unbearably tense under her fingers, and she caressed the front of his shirt, running over the planes of his chest. "I had to put up with talk of Jenny all day. Baby this, and baby that. I swear, the whole of Manhattan is obsessed with babies..."

There was a sting as she said it, but she needed to keep distracting.

Chuck, however, was getting angrier and angrier.

"Do you think," he hissed, "That I care about _babies_?" He was too furious, for a second, to realise what he'd just said. "Carter Baizen is manipulating you. How can you not see that?" He turned, still seething with rage, to try and collect himself. He was angry with Baizen. Not her.

And it was then that he realised Blair had gone very quiet. He stilled as it occurred to him. Babies. Shit, what had he -

He whirled back round to her, but she'd already closed herself off. Her face was white, though she kept her expression blank.

"I'm going to bed. I'm tired."

He reached for her arm. "Blair, I didn't-"

But she pulled away. "I said I'm tired."

He watched her leave, fists clenched. His gut twisted with guilt and worry - but he was still angry. This was about Carter, damnit. All he wanted was to keep her safe from Carter. "Blair, just tell me what he's doing!"

She ignored him, and he heard the bedroom door shut. Locking him out.

* * *

Serena had been up all night, staring at the ceiling. She could hear Dan's even breathing next to her, and all it had done was made her feel even worse. She'd tried counting sheep, staring at the patterns on the ceiling. Anything but the feeling of her swollen stomach. And the weight of guilt with it that seemed to get heavier every day. She was happy, wasn't she? Why wasn't she happy? What was wrong with her?

She gazed across at her sleeping husband, his face peaceful in the moonlight. And she felt sick all over again. How could he ever look at her in the same way if he knew some of the thoughts she'd been having about their baby?

* * *

Blair had somehow managed to sneak out of the penthouse while Chuck was sleeping (uncomfortably) in the spare room. He'd had an awful night, and was resolved to fix it that morning - but when he got to their bedroom, she'd gone. He stared miserably at the empty bed, which looked about as well slept in as the one in the spare room. And now he had no choice but to go to work.

* * *

Serena was wrestling with herself, over and over again, as she hurried along the street. But she'd finally decided she didn't care - she needed her best friend. She was so set on her destination that she almost collided with the small brunette coming in the opposite direction.

"B!" She caught the girl's arms. And she saw, to her surprise, that there were the same dark circles and tear tracks on Blair's face that knew were on hers.

"Serena." Blair sniffed. "What's wrong?"

"I was just coming to find you." Serena looked down at her in concern. "What is it?"

And at that, Blair crumbled a little in her arms. "I need my best friend." Serena held her tighly - and she didn't think she'd ever been more relieved to hear those words.

* * *

**Thank you very much for all your reviews; they're so lovely to read, and I'm so glad people are still enjoying this! :) I realise I promised CB interaction last chapter, and then gave you an argument instead. So um...please don't hate me?**


	10. Chapter 10

Adrian had determined to speak to Blair that morning, planning on catching her when she left her penthouse and Chuck had gone to work. He'd got there early, just in case - and had looked up in surprise when she'd come out first. Before her husband, even. He'd watched her leave the building, noting the look of unhappiness on her face despite her flawless hair and dress. He couldn't have asked for better timing - his goading of Chuck yesterday must have worked.

So he'd tailed her down the streets, and had been on the verge of making his move when the blonde girl appeared. He'd cursed as he'd watched the two of them head into the nearest teahouse. He'd been planning on sowing further seeds of Chuck doubt.

(That sick part inside of him had also just wanted to talk to her).

Still, if she was upset and out of the way for the rest of the day, it suited the next part of his plan perfectly.

* * *

He couldn't help but smile to himself as he stepped out onto Carter and Chuck's corridor. He could hear the raised voices from the elevator.

"-Completely ridiculous, as usual-"

"-So much as _look _at her again, Baizen-"

Adrian opened the door to Carter's office, cutting Chuck off mid-snarl. Carter was on his feet too, and seemed equally annoyed; his glare only intensified when he saw the man in the doorway.

"What do you want?"

Adrian raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer, Chuck had interupted.

"Not to speak to you, that's for sure." He exuded cold wrath as he glowered at his enemy, only briefly looking round at the accountant. "I'll be with you in a moment, Adrian. I just need to sort something."

"For the last time," Carter sighed in irritation. "I'm not doing anything to her." His eyes shot to Adrian, narrowing. "Montgommery, on the other hand-"

"Actually," Adrian interjected. "I wanted to talk to both of you." He held out a file. "I'd like you take a look at this."

He was met with two frowns. He could see that Carter had guessed something, though; saw the look that was already entering his eyes before he'd even read the document. Carter knew him all right.

"What am I looking at?" Chuck demanded.

Adrian's voice was quite even. "Evidence."

"Of what, exactly?"

Adrian smiled at the hardness in Baizen's voice. "Fraud. Money laundering."

Chuck had gone very still. "That's impossible. These are Bass Industries accounts."

"Yes," Adrian agreed. "Apparently the Luccios are more than poor accountants. They're criminals too. There's proof in there of years of fiddling accounts. False insurance claims. Tax evasion." He shook his head. "You're lucky you fired them. Otherwise no one would ever even have realised."

"Impossible," Chuck snapped again. "My father knew everything that went on in this company. He would have noticed." He was sure his father wasn't always above underhand techniques, but there was no way Bart Bass would let that much evidence build. He was far too careful.

Adrian just shrugged, tossing the dossier down. "Believe what you like. The fact is, once this gets out, Bass Industries will be destroyed. And I'd say whoever's in charge of the accounts could even be facing prison. That's you and Biazen, isn't it?"

Chuck felt the room tilt alarmingly. This couldn't be happening. This had to be a joke.

"You're lying."

Carter hoped the same, but he knew Montgommery was too clever for that.

The blond shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid the authorities won't agree. If I were you, I'd start preparing for a long court battle."

"Why are you doing this?" Chuck's voice was little more than a growl. He couldn't believe he'd trusted this man. He couldn't believe he'd been so _stupid -_

But Adrian was shaking his head again. "Look, I'm sorry Chuck. I like you. Really, I do. You and your wife. But I can't ignore this - it's my duty to report it."

Chuck was holding the file in a death grip, stomach still lurching. This couldn't be happening.

Adrian moved closer to him, concerned. "Are you all right?"

"Get out," Carter snapped. "You've done what you came to do. Leave."

Adrian ignored him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Bass," he murmured. "I know this is the last thing you and Blair need, on top of everything else. Please tell her I'm sorry."

"Get. Out." Chuck spat.

Adrian frowned. "Look, I've apologised. I'm not trying to destroy you - I want to help you. It's a good thing you hired me when you did. After everything I've done for you - done for _Blair -_ I really hoped we could stay friends."

Chuck's gaze snapped up at that, because there was something in the man's voice. Something deliberate. "What are you talking about?" Done for Blair? Hell, he'd met her - once?

The other man paused. "She told me. About your problems. About how scared she is that she won't be able to give you a child." He was quick to reassure Chuck - "Look, I know it's not my place. But she was so upset. She needed someone to talk to. I suppose...I was just there."

Chuck stared at him in disbelief. There was no way in hell that Blair would ever have admitted that to anyone. So how the hell did this guy know? Would she have told anyone? Impossible.

He remembered his words from yesterday, a further twist in his stomach now - _Do you think I care about babies?_

But Carter was already jerking the door open, nodding his head. "Get out, Adrian. Now."

Adrian appraised him coolly. "Decided to grow a backbone, Baizen?"

"I said _leave._" He slammed the door in the man's face, so hard that the glass rattled. Adrian smiled again and went on his way.

Carter, meanwhile, had moved to pick up the file, scanning through the numbers. Montgommery definitely hadn't been lying. He spared Chuck a glance. He wasn't in the best of states - his face was white.

"Save it," he hissed, so low and choked it was barely audible, "I don't want your I told you so."

Carter breathed out in silent relief - for one awful moment there, he wondered if he'd been left the task of comforting him. Not a conversation either of them ever wanted to have. But no - he was still Chuck Bass.

"You deserve one," Carter reflected, "And it would give me great pleasure. But I don't think you punching me in the face is going to solve anything." He flicked through the file again. "We need to work out what we're going to do about this."

Chuck wasn't listening, too busy wrapped in thoughts of what Adrian had said about Blair.

Carter made a pointed noise. He needed Chuck to focus, damnit. "Hello? Bass?"

"Were you in this with him?" Chuck demanded suddenly.

And at that, Carter dropped his head in his hands. "Not this again."

But Chuck had found an outlet for his rage. "Were you?" His nostrils flared as he sized Carter up - and he looked very close to attacking him there and then.

"For God's sake," Carter sighed in frustration. "No. The only person you should be wasting all your energies on here is Montgommery. Like I keep trying to tell you - he's a nasty piece of work." He glared at him. "You heard the lies he was making up about your precious wife. He's just trying to mess with your head."

"And what about you?" Chuck's eyes were dangerous slits. "What are you doing with her?"

"We didn't have lunch," Carter groaned. "She wanted my PI to try and stop Montgommery. _He's_ the one who did something to her."

Did something to her? Did _what_? How the hell had Chuck not known this? He felt physically sick - and Carter seemed to realise the impact of his words when he got no response. He spared Chuck a glance and scoffed.

"Oh, calm down. I don't think he did anything awful. Just enough for her to realise he couldn't be trusted. Look," he said, exhaling, "I know Adrian. He's a master at manipulating people. Which is why we need to move fast if we want to stop him."

There was a pause while Chuck stared up at him. "Why aren't you doing a victory dance?" he asked slowly. "You've got what you wanted. I messed up, and the company's ruined. I'm surprised you haven't booked the first train to tell Bart."

He received an eye roll. "Believe it or not, Bass, not everything is about you."

"So you're doing this out of love for Bass Industries?" Chuck sneered.

There was a silence.

"I've worked here for several years now," Carter snapped at last. "Do you really think I worked that hard because I don't give a damn about any of it?"

Chuck gave him a look.

Carter rolled his eyes again. "Sure, I like winding you up - but do you really think I'd waste that much time on _you_? And believe me, I don't enjoy having to see your face every day."

"Then why?" Chuck shot.

Carter stopped, grinding his teeth. God, what the hell was he doing? Having a heart to heart with Chuck Bass? "I respect your father, all right? He's the first person who's ever trusted me. And this is the first time I've ever had to work at anything. Or stuck at it." He grimaced. "And pedestrian though that sounds, there's a possibility that I'm beginning to understand its merits."

Chuck glanced at him in silence.

Carter Baizen actually cared about something. He wasn't entirely sure he was comfortable with this realisation - and Carter wasn't either. Or at least not in Chuck knowing it.

"Now come on," he said impatiently. "Are we going to save this company or not?"

But Chuck had just remembered Blair trying to tell him the same thing. That Carter wasn't actually out to get him. He closed his eyes, reliving for the thousandth time the end of that conversation.

"Yes." He got to his feet. "But first I have to find my wife."

* * *

Blair looked a little doubtful as she peered around the darkened room. "Are you sure we'll be safe here?"

"Yes," Serena insisted, tugging her best friend further in.

She'd started off the day by convincing Blair that she needed a shopping trip, followed by lunch - but they'd bumped into Penelope and ended up having to run away from her instead. It should have been fun, but they needed to talk. Properly. Not in public, and not where anyone could overhear. Neither of them wanted to go home.

Luckily, Serena had found the perfect place to hide away. "Dan's helping decorate Faith's room today. The exhibition isn't till next week, so he won't drop in here at all. Besides," she added, look a little guilty, "It's really the last place anyone we know would come."

And true to her words, the gallery was completely empty.

Blair had to concede this point, but; "I meant, are you sure we'll be safe in Brooklyn?" She eyed the floor in distaste. "From actual vermin?"

Serena rolled her eyes. She was already dragging cushions from some of the chairs to set behind the bar, hidden from sight. She dropped down onto them, skirts splaying around her as she tugged a reluctant Blair down too.

"Now." She instructed. "Tell me what's wrong."

Blair swallowed. Because in actual fact, she didn't even know where to begin.

"Chuck and I had an argument," she said in a small voice. She glanced up at the blue eyes of her best friend, filled with patient understanding. Sympathy. And she felt herself breathe out a little. "It wasn't a good one. He spent the night in the guest room." She blinked away the prick of tears, not entirely sure why they were already there. This was far from the hardest part of her story. But it had _hurt,_ spending the night alone with nothing but her guilt, swamped in an empty bed_._

"What was it about?" Serena prompted.

Blair sighed. "Carter, originally." She felt the blonde pause, and looked over at her. But Serena waited for her to go on. "Well...as it turns out, you may have been right about him."

Whatever Serena had been expecting - it wasn't that. She stared. "What changed your mind?"

Blair wasn't exactly keen to get straight into that. She took a deep breath. "If I tell you, you have to tell me how you worked it out before me." After all, Blair was usually the better judge of person. She gave her a pointed look. "Come on, S. What's the big Carter secret?"

Serena squirmed for a while, but eventually gave in.

"I first met him a few years ago," she admitted. "He was...he was the first man I slept with." The secret of Serena's promiscuity back then was one they didn't often talk about. "You know what I was like then."

And Blair had already guessed she'd slept with Carter. What she didn't understand was how this had somehow made Serena think he was _good._

"So...the morning after, I ran away."

"Did you regret it?"

Serena paused. "Well, I wanted to. I did. But it wasn't exactly a bad night." She smiled. "Carter was-"

"The scoundrel who deflowered you," Blair filled in.

Serena gave her a look. "Anyway, I assumed we'd both be pretending it had never happened. And I was quite happy with that. But...he came after me the next day." She swallowed. "He asked me to marry him."

Blair stared. Carter, asking someone to _marry _him?

"He didn't want to hurt me," Serena insisted. "I didn't know what to think at the time, but I could see he meant it. Every word."

"And then?"

Serena sighed. "And then I ran away again. I didn't want to _marry _him. I didn't want to marry anyone," she reflected sadly. "I wasn't ready. And then...the last I heard of him, he'd disappeared to Los Angeles."

There was a lull while Blair considered this. The sun had sunk low in the sky by now, the shadows lengthened through the gallery windows. If she'd needed any proof before - this was it. Carter had loved Serena. (Carter still loved Serena).

"S," she started warily. She shifted, pulling her skirts over her lap. The thought that she, at the very least, now owed Carter this was not a pleasant one. Blair had never been a fan of doing the right thing. "There's something you need to know. I got a letter from him. After - the Olympic. He wanted me to find you." She sighed. "I think he was planning on proposing to you once he got back from England. And...I sent Dan after you instead."

She looked up at the blonde, waiting for her to tell her she'd done the wrong thing. But Serena just looked a little lost.

"Maybe it wasn't my place," she admitted. "But I trusted Dan more than Carter." In fact, she still did. Even if she wasn't quite as suspicious of Carter as she'd once been.

"He wanted to find me," Serena repeated, wondering.

"Would you have said yes? If he'd asked you to marry him?"

"I don't know," Serena admitted. "If Dan had never been there...I care about Carter. I always have. But I don't know if I would have regretted saying yes afterwards."

Blair thought about this for a moment. "Have you ever regretted saying yes to Dan?"

Serena smiled sadly. "It's difficult sometimes. But...no. I know I made the right choice." And she did. In a long list of the wrong choices, having Dan in her life was definitely the right one. He could frustrate her no ends at times - but the problem had never been Dan.

It was her.

* * *

Chuck had spent a fruitless afternoon searching for Blair. He could at least be fairly sure she was with Serena, since Humphrey hadn't known where his wife was either. (Well, he'd protested something about the beauty salon, but hadn't quite seemed to realise that appointments there didn't take the entire day).

In the end, Chuck had stopped off at Bass Industries to get Carter, and the two of them had gone back to Chuck's penthouse to strategise. Carter hadn't wanted to go to Chuck's home any more than Chuck had particularly wanted him there - but he needed to be there when Blair returned.

Chuck was currently taking a telephone call while Carter sat in the front room, glass of scotch in hand. He rolled his eyes as his gaze skimmed the portrait over the fireplace. Two dark heads smirked out at him, dressed in co-ordinated shades of purple. Honestly.

He glanced up as Chuck came back into the room, and was about to demand what had taken so long - until he noticed that he was white again.

He sat up. "Don't tell me Montgommery's found something else? Has he made his move?"

Chuck shook his head brusquely. "It's not Montgommery," he snapped. He was clearly close to the edge. "It's my father. He's had another fit." He gazed round the room, trying and failing to take control as he seized his coat. "I need to go to Westchester. Apparently he's not in a good way." He'd heard the concern in Lily's voice. "I need to get to the station..." He needed to pull himself together - he needed a pair of brown eyes and a hand gripping his, calming him down. He suddenly realised he felt at a complete loss without her at his side. He needed to -

"You need a car." Carter was already on his own feet. Seeing an overwhelmed Chuck was definitely not something he could deal with - and especially not the knowledge that he actually wanted the opposite. If he wasn't careful, he'd catch himself actually feeling sorry for the Basstard. He cleared his throat. "Come on."

"I need to find Blair," Chuck muttered tightly. He was buttoning up his jacket without noticing, running a hand through his hair. "I need Blair."

Carter very nearly caught himself wondering if he was supposed to put a hand on the man's shoulder. That was definitely wrong. He pulled back, feeling a little disturbed.

"I'll find her," he answered instead. "I'll make sure she gets the message."

Chuck finally glanced at him. Carter pretended he hadn't seen the helplessness in his eyes. "I'll find her," he promised curtly. "Now move it."

* * *

Jenny had decided upon her next move. She didn't just want to be photographed for Waldorf Designs - she wanted Jack Dawson to photograph her. That would really send a message. And for some inexplicable reason, he was holding an exhibition at her _family's_ gallery. Her brother was_ friends_ with him. The circumstances couldn't have been more perfect.

Which was why she was currently on the doorstep to the gallery. She would pretend she'd come in search of her brother, and just happen to bump into Mr. Dawson...

The front door was closed, but Jenny had grown up in the place. She knew the back entrances. She slipped in, now, rearranging her dress and ready to seek the man out. But she paused as she saw that the gallery was dark. And she could hear voices, indistinguishable.

Then she stopped. She was sure she recognised those voices - one in particular - but surely it was impossible? What on earth would Blair Bass be doing in Brooklyn?

She moved closer, hardly daring breathe, to better make out what they were saying.

* * *

"Blair," Serena whispered. They'd been sitting in solitude for a while now. It was the first time, Serena realised, that she had felt quite so comfortable with silence in a long time. Blair had told her about Montgommery - told her about how humiliated she'd felt. (She hadn't mentioned exactly what he'd said to her in the park, but Serena had been horrified enough).

And now Serena's head was leant against Blair's, arms wrapped around her stomach. She gazed into the darkness of the gallery, feeling Blair's eyes on her.

"I don't want this baby," she said, very quietly.

Blair looked up at her in stunned silence.

"I know I should. And I want to. And-" Her voice broke. "-And, I know I shouldn't even be telling you this. I know it makes me the most selfish person alive. But Dan's so happy, and I just..."

Blair squeezed her hand. "Serena," she promised softly. "I'm your best friend. And I love you. There's nothing you could ever say that would make me love you less." She held on tightly. "Talk to me."

"I didn't deserve Faith," Serena sobbed. "I never wanted her. I hated being pregnant. And I hate it now. And I can't help but think - think -" She struggled to even get the sentence out. "I don't want this baby to be a replacement," she whispered at last. She didn't know how to explain what she meant by that, either. Didn't know how she could tell Blair what she meant.

There was a silence again, while Blair leaned into Serena. "You loved Nate," she murmured at last.

Serena blanched instantly, but Blair shook her head.

"I know, S. I've always known that."

The two of them were quiet.

"You're allowed to miss him," Blair told her. "That doesn't mean you don't love Dan. And being excited about this baby doesn't mean you love Faith any less."

Serena closed her eyes. "Really?" she whispered.

"Really." Blair could feel Serena's teardrops spilling into her hair as she clung to her fingers. "There's something," she mumbled. "Something I need to tell you." She couldn't, she realised; couldn't not tell her when Serena had admitted something like that. But Chuck was the only person who had ever known. And it had taken her long enough to even tell him. She hesitated.

"Blair." Serena's voice was gentle.

"I knew about you and Nate," Blair confessed. Serena frowned; she'd assumed that anyway. But Blair was shaking her head. "I mean...I knew for a long time." She laughed bitterly. "Georgie told me."

Serena flinched.

Blair managed to carry on anyway. "I never told Nate. Chuck was with me when I found out. And...I slept with him." She felt Serena shift underneath her. "I was sleeping with Chuck. I had an affair with him. And I knew it was wrong, but I didn't care. Because for the first time, I was happy."

Serena paused. "B, why did you never tell me this?" She knew how important Blair had always considered her purity - but how could she not have told her best friend? Especially given that it was now in the past? Serena had always assumed that Chuck and Blair had fallen for each other after Nate's death. (Or realised their true feelings, perhaps).

"I was ashamed," Blair whispered.

"After what _I_ did?"

There was another silence while Blair struggled with herself.

"I was pregnant," she finally forced it out. "I was going to run away with Chuck, and I lost the baby." She squeezed her eyes shut tight. She had to admit it, finally. The truth. She had to face up to it. "We're not going to have babies together, S." She was terffied, but part of her, now, was also relieved to finally say it - finally stop pretending. "I thought that if I never told anyone, then it wouldn't be true," she murmured. "But I had the chance. And I lost it."

She could sense that her best friend was reeling a little as she took in the information. But, Serena being Serena, she soon took it in her stride. And to Blair's surprise, her jaw was set.

"You haven't," she said fiercely. "Blair, you don't know that. There could be hundreds of reasons why...why you haven't..." She shook her head, grabbing Blair's hand. "You don't know that that's why. Or that you never will."

"But I feel it," Blair whispered.

Serena shook her head again. "You feel guilt," she stated. And Blair looked up at her once more. "I know," Serena promised. "But if you can tell me to stop feeling guilty, then I can tell you."

There was another stretch of silence, and Serena smiled a little as she wiped away her best friend's tears. "Since when does Blair Bass apologise for anything?"

Blair managed a faint smile back. "And since when do you start thinking about consequences?"

Serena gave her a playful nudge, but they both laughed. They were both quiet a while longer. Serena glanced at her, giving her arm a squeeze. "So, from now on, no more guilt?"

"No more guilt," Blair agreed softly.

She laid her head against her best friend, and the two of them sat in mutual silence in the safety of the dark gallery.

* * *

**A/N Just a quick note about this chapter - I know some people have said they really want to see Chuck supporting Blair through this, but I felt Serena was necessary too. Firstly because the Serena/Blair relationship is still in need of redemption (in this fic, anyway), and I do love seeing Serena be there for her BFF. Secondly, I just think that Serena might be able to empathise a little more - because of her own guilt, but mainly because she's been through a similar thing. The pregnancy, obviously, not losing the child. And as a woman, I think that however much Chuck gets Blair, there are some things he can't relate to. **

**I hope people aren't disappointed, anyway!**

**Also: am I the only person who thinks a Carter/Chuck bromance would be kind of awesome? Don't get me wrong, I much prefer them as rivals. But seriously, they would OWN the UES if they ever joined forces. **

**Thanks so much for your reviews :) CB interaction to follow, don't worry...**


	11. Chapter 11

Blair woke up to a stiff neck and a mouthful of blonde hair in her face.

She reached out, expecting to find silk sheets and the heat of her husband - and was temporarily disorientated as she recognised the snoring figure of her best friend. Then the fact that they were apparently on a floor (a dusty floor, at that) in an empty room. And there was morning light filtering through the window...

Morning. She jerked up, horrified. It couldn't be morning, not already. She'd spent the whole night in Humphrey's gallery in _Brooklyn_? Her thoughts flew straight to Chuck – God only knew what he thought she was doing. She'd been out _all night_.

She shoved at Serena's arm, trying to get her to wake up. "S! We have to get home. Now!"

Serena grumbled sleepily, and Blair rolled her eyes. She'd forgotten how impossible the blonde was to rouse.

"Serena," she hissed. "Move!"

She had to get to Chuck and apologise. She had to talk to him.

* * *

Serena was still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes as she walked into a rather tense scene in her penthouse. Blair had already hurried to her own home, desperate to get to Chuck before he went to work - and Serena stopped in surprise, now. Surprise laced with uncertainty.

Carter Baizen was in her front room.

Talking to Dan.

Or rather, snapping at Dan. "How can you not know where they are? You didn't think it was at all odd when she didn't come home last night?"

But Dan was equally annoyed. "Well, of course I did. I assumed she'd ended up at Blair's - I've already sent several messages over there! I was about to call for the-"

"Well, maybe if you'd bothered _going_ over there," Carter sneered over him, "You'd have seen that the place is empty."

Dan bristled with fury. "I have a daughter to look after!"

Carter looked as though he were about to say something nasty, then, but Serena made her presence known. She gazed between the two of them. "What's going on?"

Shock, closely followed by relief, entered two pairs of eyes - though Dan was quick to get to her before Carter did. "Serena. Where have you _been_?"

She stepped gratefully into his embrace, still a little too aware of Carter's presence. Carter looked away as she squeezed Dan's hands. "I'm sorry," she apologised. "I was with Blair at the gallery. We fell asleep."

Dan blinked in confusion. "The gallery? What on earth-"

"Where's Blair now?" Carter cut him off.

Serena turned her eyes to him; but he refused direct acknowledgement, and it made her heart sink a little. She didn't want him to hate her. "She went home. Why? What's wrong?"

* * *

Blair hurried along the corridor that led to Chuck's office. He wasn't at home, and her heart had further plummeted when she'd seen that the bed looked unslept in from where she'd left it the night before. The empty penthouse had just been depressing. Her chest constricted at the thought that he'd either spent all night working, or had decided to drown his sorrows somewhere. What had he thought - that she was refusing to come home?

She just prayed now that he _was _in the office. The rest of the building was deserted save the doormen - it was still too early for the rest of the employees.

She grasped the doorknob without bothering to knock, heading straight in.

And then she came to an abrupt stop.

Because Adrian Montgommery was standing at her husband's desk, rifling through his papers. He turned as she entered, and she didn't miss the gleam that crossed his eyes as he took her in. Alone.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, furious. "Sneaking around?"

He lifted his hands in defense, dropping the papers as he moved towards her. He was trying to calm her down, but she found herself backing away instinctively. He stopped, as though hurt by her reaction. "Blair," he said softly. "I wasn't sneaking around. I just had to get some important documents."

"From my husband's office?" she seethed.

"I'm not trying to cause trouble," he insisted. "Just-"

"Don't bother," she cut in before he could finish. She regarded him coldly. "I know what you're up to. And I can promise you that soon Chuck will, too."

Montgommery tilted his head for a moment. She didn't know? Then he sighed. "Look, I'm sure he's told you all kinds of things - and I don't blame him. I've no doubt that he hates me now. But like I said to him yesterday - I don't have a choice. I can't just overlook this."

Blair's lip curled. "Overlook what?"

So he told her about the fraud charges, increasingly satisfied with the look of horror on her face. She tried the same line as Chuck had, too - _you're lying._

"Ask Mr. Bass," Adrian shook his head wearily. "He's seen the proof for himself." He paused for a moment while he took in her stricken appearance. She'd gone white and shaky - hard exterior notwithstanding - her brown eyes even bigger than usual. "Blair," he said again, moving closer - and she flinched.

"Mrs. Bass," she hissed at him.

"I really am sorry," he murmured. "I...The truth is, I haven't done it yet. I had to tell Chuck I would, and I really should...but, I just can't bring myself to."

Blair gave him a sharp look. "Then don't." There was still overwhelming distrust there - but he'd seen it. The briefest flash of desperation. This was going to work, he was sure.

"I care about you," he whispered. "I can't help myself. I liked you from the first moment I saw you. You're beautiful, sharp, intelligent..." He was aware that none of this was exactly a lie, but brushed that aside. "I can see why Chuck likes having you on his arm. I suppose...you remind me of my wife."

But for some reason, that was exactly the wrong thing to say - because her eyes suddenly blazed with the contempt that had been building in them as he talked.

"Drop the act," she bit. Her tone was like ice. "I know the truth."

He paused again, and then realisation crossed his face. He pulled a wry smile. "Mr. Baizen. Of course." He let out another sigh. "Look, you know he despises me. He stole money from me. Chuck knows he can't be trusted - you must see the same thing?"

Blair just snorted. "Oh, don't even try it."

"Blair," he attempted again. "I want to be your friend. I don't want to hurt you. Do you understand what I'm saying?" She paused, working out what he was driving at - and he took the opportunity to catch her hand. "Just meet me tonight. Please."

She jerked away instantly. "Are you out of your mind?"

"I want to help you," he stressed. "If you meet me tonight..."

"What?" Because she'd worked out what he'd been building up to now. "You'll drop the charges?" Yes, she realised, sickeningly, as his silence stetched out. Her voice nearly shook with hatred. "Listen to me, Mr. Montgommery. I don't want to come within a foot of you ever again." She pulled herself upright, putting as much distance between them as she could. "Chuck's going to destroy you," she promised. "And I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."

Adrian lowered his head. "I gave you the chance, Blair. I tried."

"And the answer," she enuncuiated, "Is no. So you can take your disgusting deal and get out."

But she was still shaken, he could tell. He was going to say something else, but they were interupted when the door opened and Baizen appeared.

He took in the scene between narrowed eyes. "What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

Adrian gave him a little smile. "Don't worry, Baizen. I'm leaving." He gazed at Blair a final time. "I meant what I said, Blair. And I really am sorry."

Carter was more than ready to shut the door in his face for the second time, but he went on his way. Thank God. Carter's mouth twisted in distaste, before he glanced over at Blair. She was still pale.

"What was that all about?"

She gave herself a little shake. "Nothing," she snapped. Carter looked like he didn't entirely believe her, but she had far more pressing concerns. "Is it true? He's found proof of fraud?" Then, more importantly, as her heart clenched and her eyes darkened with worry - "Where's Chuck?"

* * *

Chuck paced yet another infirmary corridor, hair and suit ravaged. He'd got next to no sleep last night - either on the train on the way up, or in the guest room they'd provided for him.

Bart was still in the medical wing - still under sedation.

Chuck had tried demanding to know why he'd had _another_ fit - wasn't that the point of him being in the sanitorium in the first place? - but the answer had scared him far more. They didn't know.

Lily had gone to find a maid to get them both some breakfast. Her presence had been reassuring, but far from what he actually needed.

And at the back of his mind, underlying all his fear about Bart, was the fear that Carter hadn't been able to find Blair. Had she not come home? He couldn't shake the sense of paralysing dread (she'd been mugged, kidnapped, there'd been an accident, she'd collapsed too - the list of possibilities wouldn't leave him alone) and his lack of sleep wasn't doing anything to help his rationality.

It had all been ripped away in a matter of hours. He'd lost control of everything (BartBlairBassIndustriesBlair), and he could feel panic rising as he grasped around for nothing.

The last thing he'd said to Bart was a rough, short _goodbye. _He'd practically run out of his father's room. And the last thing he'd said to her -

"Charles."

He turned. Lily was behind him, and instead of breakfast she'd brought an orderly.

"Your father's awake."

Chuck managed a nod, trying to keep his face blank. The last thing he wanted was for Lily to see how scared he was. Again. Her own expression softened as her hand slipped to his arm; gentle - an mother's touch so alien he almost flinched. But he concentrated enough to let it be comforting, if not the fierce grip he craved. He looked down the empty corridor one last time and his heart thumped.

Then he had no choice but to follow his stepmother.

* * *

Serena watched as Dan read to Faith, trying in vain to engross her in the story. She was waiting for news on what was happening with Bart - but for now, they were keeping Faith occupied. The little girl kept squirming in her seat, desperate to get down from the table and play.

"Look!" she called brightly, "A bird!"

Dan frowned, now squinting at the book to try and work out what she was talking about. "No, Faith. No bird. It's a tortoise." He hadn't noticed, like Serena had, that the girl was actually clapping her hands in delight over the pigeon in the window. "You see, it's a _fable. _It's a story with a moral. What do you think the moral might be?"

Faith vaguely registered a word she didn't know - moral? But she was too busy watching the pigeon fly away. "Can I find Mr. Barnaby now?" Barnaby was the latest teddy of the week.

Serena bit back a laugh as her husband looked increasingly perplexed.

She decided this would be a good point to rescue both of them. She approached the table and bent to ruffle Faith's hair, smiling at Dan.

"You can play once you've said thank you for the story," she whispered in her ear.

"Thank you for the story," Faith recited obediently, jumping down from her chair. "The rabbit was really pretty!" She scampered off, blonde curls flying.

Dan watched her go with a look of helplessness. He sighed. "Well, I tried."

Serena just laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You got her to sit still for five minutes. I'd say that was an achievement." Faith had inherited both her parents' easy distraction - but none of Nate's patience. That was all Serena. She remembered all too well what she'd been like at that age. She'd always been amazed at Blair's ability to stay exactly where she was told, hands on her lap without so much as a fidget. (It wasn't exactly a mystery as to how Blair had been their schoolmistress' favourite.)

Dan still seemed a little sad that Faith didn't share his love of books, though, so Serena planted a kiss on his lips.

"What was that for?" he asked in surprise.

She just smiled down at him. "I love you."

He blinked - but, after a moment, smiled back. "You know, I never thought I'd say this - but apparently I need to thank Blair."

"Why?" Serena laughed.

"I don't know." He studied her. "Just, whatever the two of you talked about last night - it seems to have made you happy."

Serena bit her lip. "I did need to talk to her," she admitted. She gave him another kiss, her nose rubbing against his. "But _you_...make me happy."

* * *

Bart was on the other side of the door. He'd woken up all right, but he was refusing visitors. Lily alone had convinced the orderly to let her in - Chuck's voice had stuck in his throat, for some reason - and she'd promised him she'd talk some sense into the man.

Part of him stung that his father didn't want to see him, but the other part - the bigger part - didn't want to go in there. _Really_ didn't want to go in there. He'd thought he'd be prepared, after last time - and he wasn't at all. He couldn't help it; seeing Bart like that terrified him. He just wanted to know his father was all right. He didn't want to have to go in there and face...Face Bart knowing how scared he was, for one thing. He was a coward through and through - experiencing it once hadn't made him any braver.

The doorknob turned and his breathing hitched. He realised with frightening clarity that he couldn't do this. He couldn't do it. He was on the verge of turning and running there and then because he didn't want, didn't want to see -

And then a hand suddenly gripped his, small fingers enwtining themselves and squeezing - and _she _was suddenly there. She was there, holding his hand, very much safe and real as she pressed into his side. He turned into her, shoulders unclenching as he realised he could breathe again. For a moment.

"I'm sorry." Her eyes were wild, face pale. "I'm so sorry." She squeezed his arm, tight.

And he was too relieved to even ask where she'd been - his voice was sticking again and all he could do was grip her hand back pathetically, shame and terror and relief threatening to drown him there and then.

_"_I'm here," she whispered. He held onto her as Lily motioned for him to enter the room. Blair glanced back at him, still holding his hand, and he was fine as long as he looked into those brown eyes. "I'm here," she promised again.

* * *

"I told you I didn't want to see you."

Bart's tone was cold. He barely looked at his son, and Chuck's own jaw was just as rigid. He was having difficulty forcing himself to look at Bart's sallow skin, the stink that he'd come to assoicate with sickness - medicine, cleaning soaps - suffocating him. He could see a dark wound above Bart's eye, a bandaged gash to a once hard and imobile face. He must have knocked himself during the fit, but the idea of him even shedding blood was horrifying. The only thing stopping Chuck from bolting was the presence at his side.

"Bart," Lily sighed. "You don't mean-"

"Don't presume to tell me," he snapped, "What I do and don't mean." His voice was hoarse from the sedation, but he loaded as much authority into it as he could. "I made it perfectly clear that I didn't want visitors. Now get out."

His clothes had been changed. While he was unconscious. He'd probably soiled them during his fit. He wasn't even capable of _dressing _himself.

"I said leave."

Chuck turned, abruptly, and walked out - dragging Blair with him. Lily gazed at Bart for a moment, and then sighed again. "Fine. We'll give you some time alone."

It took all of Bart's willpower not to collapse back on the pillows once they'd left; but he stayed, upright and rigid, as though ready for anyone to walk back in. It was only once he was completely sure that they were gone that he allowed his eyes to close.

* * *

They'd been shown into one of the siderooms for tea; Chuck sat, back upright against the chair and his hand still in Blair's while Lily spoke with one of the orderlies again. Blair released him only to pour the tea and butter some bread, pushing both in front of him. The message was clear. _Eat. _He watched her prepare her own food before he forced himself to comply.

Watching her stopped him from noticing that the food tasted like ash in his mouth. She looked as if she'd got about as much sleep as he had, and the thought made him flinch again.

"Blair." His hand sought the warmth of her knee under the table (hidden), and he covered it, tight. "I didn't mean it." It was low and raw in his throat as he held her in place.

"I know." Their argument felt like so long ago now. "It's not important."

His girp tightened on her lap. "It _is._" He didn't want there to be any question of doubt. Ever. His voice still wasn't quite working properly - but this, he needed her to know. "I care."

Her fingers crept under the table to brush his hand, tracing his knuckles.

He exhaled. "And Jenny Dalgaard is a social-climbing whore. I pity any child of hers that inherits Damien's nose. Or her forehead." [1]

Blair couldn't help the faintest of real smiles; and he felt his chest loosen that bit more, gazing at her. They finished the rest of their food in silence, though his hand stayed on her knee.

"Chuck," she murmured at last. "I know you're scared." She looked up at him, and her hand didn't move from his. "But you can do this. I know you can."

Chuck's insides clenched with fear again, just at her words, and he'd already started to shake his head. "He doesn't want to see-"

"That's irrelevant, and you know it." Blair's voice was still quiet but it held no compromise. "You're going to go in there, and you're going to sit with him."

Chuck's fingers tightened round his cup. He wrestled with the temptation to snap that he was _not. _Blair, however, was not about to back down. Or let him run away. She was no doubt more than ready to try dragging him there.

And he didn't think her tiny frame could carry any more of the weight. (He didn't want it to). So he pulled his eyes away from her and gave a curt nod. "Fine."

* * *

Adrian leaned back in his study chair as he skimmed, birefly, once more through the Bass Industries documents. They were all in place. Everything was going according to plan. He'd found out from one of the employees that Chuck was in Westchester with his father - which meant Blair would be too. And it meant Bart was in a bad way - which meant Chuck would be distracted. Desperate. He couldn't have asked for better circumstances.

He took a deep breath from his cigarette as his eyes closed. He'd had a dream about Bree last night. Similar to the first day he'd met her (or re-met her, perhaps) - a distant cousin on his mother's side, part of his rebellion against his father in the deep South. He'd remembered her vaguely as the red-haired brat that had tried to force him to play tea parties - and the transformation that day had been startling.

The white dress, the face hidden behind the parasol, a flash of pale skin and a sweet voice - he remembered his awe all too well. In the dream she'd been hidden by a parasol too. And he'd chased her, trying to catch her face, trying to catch anything. She kept slipping out of his grasp. The dream had got confused, too; she'd been with Harry suddenly, even though that wasn't possible for the first day he'd met her. She'd turned into his mother, sliding away from him too. There had been a flash of brown eyes - wrong, because his mother's eyes were green like his, and Bree had passed her soft grey onto Harry. He'd woken up with the child's laugh ringing in his ears and a churning stomach.

He exhaled now.

It had been a long time since he'd dreamt at all; the last he could remember was a nightmare, hounded by one of his father's snarling mastiffs as the man laughed. Yet another 'joke'. He'd woken Bree, then, lying next to him, and she'd stayed up all night, rubbing his back and murmuring soft comfort. Just like his mother had used to do, before his father forbade him from entering her room. _Don't be a sissy._

He extinguished his cigarette, a violent jerk, into the marble ashtray.

He would destroy all of it.

Destroy her.

* * *

Chuck was caught, once again, outside of his father's door. This time Blair was waiting for him in the tearoom - and knowing she was only a few yards away eased his breathing a little. Knowing she'd be there when he got out. (If he ever went in). He knew if he wanted to, he could get her - and she'd go in with him. A buffer. And part of him did want to. It was an almost overwhelming urge.

_You can do this. I know you can._

He pulled himself up and quietly twisted the door handle. He knew knocking would get him nowhere - Bart would tell him to go away, and he would, all too gladly.

He wasn't prepared for the scene that met him. Bart was being seen by one of the nurses, who was in the process of peeling back his dressing and cleaning the wound beneath. The dried blood on his father's skin made Chuck want to hurl. (And the last thing he'd ever been was squeamish).

Bart looked up at the interuption - and, as he recognised his son, his eyes blazed. "What are you doing?" His voice whipped with sheer fury. "_Out. _Get out!"

Chuck was still feeling nauseated and had been on the verge of turning his back anyway - but something on his father's face stopped him. The flicker of an emotion that he recognised. Except he'd never seen it from Bart before.

Shame.

Bass men weren't supposed to feel shame. Bart never did. The only time Chuck felt it was when he was afraid - but Bart Bass was never afraid. Was he?

And for some reason Chuck found himself rooted to the spot.

"I told you to leave," Bart hissed.

The nurse looked a little flustered. "I'm nearly finished, Mr. Bass..." Her eyes flickered to Chuck. "Maybe you should wait outside, dear. I'll be done in a moment."

So Chuck waited outside - but once the woman had gone, he re-entered.

Bart was propped up on the pillows, mouth a hard line. He looked like he couldn't quite believe Chuck had come back in. "What do you want, Charles?"

Chuck paused. But he moved forwards anyway, grip tight around a newspaper. "I thought you might want to hear the headlines."

For a moment Bart just stared at him. Chuck couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that he might have just thrown the man.

But his face soon settled into an expression of dislike. "Well, I don't." And, when Chuck hesitated still - "I'm tired. Just go away."

Chuck bit his tongue. He clearly wasn't going to get anywhere. So he set the newspaper down and headed for the door; he was on the verge of turning the handle when Bart suddenly called after him.

His voice was stiff. "How's the company?"

Chuck might otherwise have snapped that he didn't want to be interrogated about work (and dread prickled, somewhere, at the back of his mind) - but something about his father's rigidity made him pause. He caught himelf wondering if the man was attempting some sort of conversation after all.

He turned back, and was thrown off balance by the look of discomfort on Bart's face.

But he moved, hesitantly (since when was Chuck Bass hesitant?) a little closer to his father's side. It wasn't quite the _sitting with him _that Blair had demanded, but it wasn't at the other end of the room either.

"Fine," he swallowed. His voice was equally stiff. "It's under control." He'd rehearsed the answer on the train, but it didn't sound any more convincing now. He paused again. "Carter's...actually been helpful."

Bart almost looked surprised. "You've been working together?"

"Yes." It perturbed Chuck a little that this time he _wasn't_ lying. Proof that his world really had been knocked off its axis.

His father glanced at him, and nodded. "I'm glad. I know you don't believe me, but he's a good worker." There was a pause. "I wanted you to see that."

"I suppose I do," Chuck admitted grudgingly. That didn't mean he had to _like_ the man.

Bart nodded again. He seemed pleased, and Chuck felt a jolt as he realised that, for the first time in a while, he'd been the one to cause that.

If Bart only knew the truth.

He remembered something, then. "Father." He glanced at the man carefully. "Have you ever dealt with the Montgommerys?" (And is it possible that you did something to one of them at any point?)

But Bart just frowned. "The accountants? No. I think they started off in the south - never came under my radar."

Chuck was sure Carter had said the Montgommerys were born and bred in Los Angeles. Was it possible his father was lying?

Bart raised an eyebrow. "How are they working out?"

Chuck felt a little sick again, but this was a lie he'd practiced too. "They're fine. Everything...seems to be in order."

Bart sighed. "Vincent Luccio was a good accountant." Chuck felt even sicker. His father looked at him slowly. "But...perhaps this change was for the best after all." He gave another nod. "I think you made the right decision."

How long had Chuck waited to hear those words?

He looked at his father, and it was almost all too much. He was suddenly seized with the burning, insane urge to tell him. To tell him he'd screwed up, so that Bart could fix it like he'd done so many times. Throw money at the problem and make it disappear.

Bart frowned again. "Charles? What?"

Chuck's voice was trapped in his throat. So he smiled instead, more of a grimace. "Nothing. I'm just...really glad you're pleased."

Bart was silent.

Chuck took the opportunity to move to the door again, ready to get out. He had to return to Manhattan and _fix_ this. He had to do something. Anything. "I really should get Blair," he excused himself. "We need to get back. Like you said, I can't afford to leave the company for this long."

He was just about to escape when Bart cleared his throat.

"Charles."

Chuck paused. Had his father heard something? Impossible. Then again, he was sure his lies hadn't exactly been convincing. He knew. He'd worked it out. There was something odd in the man's voice - Chuck was sure of it.

Another silence stretched out, and Chuck could feel his nerves prickling with foreboding. He'd fix it; he was going to _fix_ it -

"I love you." Bart practically sounded like he was grinding the words out.

Chuck froze.

* * *

[1] I don't actually think that there's anything wrong with Jenny's forehead. But I had great difficulty coming up with any flaws in Taylor Momsen's appearance. (Unless you count the raccoon makeup, but that can't be inherited).

**Thank you so much for all your reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

"But...Brooklyn?" Chuck's nose wrinkled just at the thought of it. "And that _gallery_?"

Blair rolled her eyes. "It was Serena's idea. And the second we get home, this dress is going to be scrubbed down to its last thread." (Not by her, of course). She pulled a face as she remembered that she hadn't even _changed _since yesterday. "Or maybe burned."

Chuck smirked.

He leaned back against the leather seats of their car, Blair's hand in between his legs. He'd managed to push what Bart had said firmly to the back of his mind (he couldn't) - and now he needed to fight his exhaustion and keep a clear head. He needed to plan. Destroy Montgommery, save the company.

The car finally pulled up in front of the familiar brownstone of their building; the valet opened the door and Chuck turned to pull Blair out. She could see his brow already heavy with the weight of plotting - she'd thought facing his fear about Bart would help. At the very least, that it would make him realise he wasn't a coward. But he'd come out looking as though he'd seen a ghost. She'd been worried, for a moment, that he was actually going to throw up.

She'd ended up chasing him round the corridor and pushing him against the wall just to get him to tell her what the hell had happened. Her immediate thought had been that Bart's condition had somehow worsened - followed by the fear that he'd found out about Bass Industries.

But Chuck had told her it was neither; and he was barely coherent. Possibly his lack of sleep hadn't been helping matters. But he'd just kept shaking his head, eyes burning. "He was right aboout me. All this time. I've ruined all of it, and I need to fix it."

She'd grabbed his chin to force him to look at her. (What the hell _had _Bart said to him? She could think of only one thing that would make Chuck lose it this badly - make him this afraid - but she'd thought Bart Bass was the last person capable of feelings.)

"Chuck," she'd said firmly. "The Luccios were his accountants. Not yours."

"And if I hadn't hired Montgommery, none of this would even be happening."

"No," she'd snapped. "If the Luccios hadn't done what they did, there would have been nothing to find." Her jaw had tightened. "If your father knew about this, then he has only himself to blame."

But Chuck had just shaken his head again. Rigid. "It's my fault. Bart should never have left me in charge, and he knew it. Because he knows me." His voice had been little more than a growl. "I need to _fix_ it."

It was spelled out in the feverish light of his eyes.

Lose the company, lose Bart.

His fingers stayed on the small of her back, now, as he guided her in. All she wanted to do was push him down on their mattress and curl up on his chest - because she was already dreading tomorrow.

* * *

Eric was heading out of his final lecture of the morning when he spotted a familiar figure. He was on his way to meet with Chuck - but he stopped now, frowning a little. Damien Dalgaard was ensconsed in the courtyard corner with two young men that Eric vaguely recognised from his classes.

They were being subtle, but Eric was no fool.

He could just about catch their voices over the light breeze.

"...That's twenty, all counted out..."

"Bet you're gonna put this to good use, huh Dalgaard?"

"You should try Cheng's - the girls there are something else."

Eric saw Damien laugh as he pocketed their money - "...Tried already, trust me - they don't live up to their reputations."

The man disappeared with a tip of his hat. The two guys idled a little longer, hands in their pockets as they checked their packages were safely stowed.

"Be nice if I could have a wife like that, didn't notice me screwing around. Dalgaard must be getting it all the time."

"Please," the other one laughed. "There a reason he's out every night. I doubt his wife even lets him near her." Another laugh - "I wouldn't, if I had any sense!"

"Aren't they expecting?"

He snorted. "Highly convenient, if you ask me. I bet she's got a line of lovers too." They both cracked up at the idea - and then the first one glanced up and noticed Eric.

He nodded. "All right, van der Woodsen?"

Eric smiled back and went on his way before they could engage him in conversation properly. He needed to get to his brother.

* * *

"So you're saying there's nothing?"

Eric glanced over at Chuck. It was quite obvious he hadn't been sleeping all week - there was an almost manical gleam in his eye, usually sleek hair dishevelled and hollow rings on his pale face. He was still pacing the office, once immaculate desk covered in papers. Figures.

"I can't make much more of their accounting system than you can," Eric admitted. "The ones from Giovanni are a complete mess, obviously, but at least they don't go back too far. There's numbers missing, a few made up figures..."

Chuck nodded along impatiently - he'd got the same.

"There seems to have been some kind of structure to the other brother's - Vincent - but I can't make sense of it." And the dossiers were far larger from the other accountant, dating back far further. "He doesn't use any of the conventional markings," Eric admitted. "He seems to have had his own system." It didn't help that a lot of it was in Italian, either.

"I don't understand how Bart didn't know about this," Chuck muttered through ground teeth. "Why didn't he insist Vincent keep records he could understand?"

Eric shrugged. "Maybe he just trusted him."

"Yes," Chuck spat. "Well, look where trust gets you." His father's principle had always been trust no one. "Maybe he and Vincent worked out the system between themselves."

Eric hesitated. "Can't you ask him?"

Chuck nearly lost it. "_No." _He realised too late that he'd snapped - overreacted - when Eric looked at him in quiet concern. But Chuck was beyond that by now. "I can't tell him. I created this mess, I need to fix it myself." He pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. "Knowing about this would probably send him into another fit."

Eric raised his hands gently. "All right. No telling him."

He was, however, a little more worried about how close his brother was to the brink than the fate of the company.

* * *

Blair had brought Chuck his favourite foods for lunch, trying to alleviate some of it in any way that she could - and the sight of him trapped in those four walls, practically rending his hair in desperation, had split her heart. The worst part of it all was knowing that for all the meals she arranged for him, all the massages and kisses and forcing him to sleep - she couldn't do anything to actually, tangibly _help_. She couldn't make it go away.

She'd picked up some of Chuck's basic training in numbers just through being at his side while he worked - but not enough. She couldn't help him with any of that.

She may have been smart enough to run her own business, but she didn't have any more experience than he did. She'd never felt so powerless to save him. She could hold his hand and smooth down his lapels and convince him to believe in himself all she liked - it wouldn't stop him losing all of it.

It didn't change the fact that it would destroy him. Everything he'd built. Everything he'd worked for.

She was just exiting the heavy swing doors of Bass Industries when a voice stopped her.

A voice that made her skin crawl instantly.

"Blair."

Montgommery was coming up to the entrance, blocking her way around him.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. "Haven't you done enough?" She had half a mind to tell the doormen not to let him in. Not to let him anywhere near her husband.

He just moved closer. "You don't look well," he murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. "Funny, that." She hated his proximity, but she wasn't about to back down. "I suggest you leave."

"Blair," he sighed. "I told you I was sorry." He reached out for her, and she jerked her arm away. Appalled. They were on the street, for God's sake. Let alone the fact that she didn't want him _touching_ her.

He dropped his hand, reisgned. "Look," he said softly. "I hate seeing you like this. Please. Come and see me tonight."

She flinched and was already withdrawing. "When are you going to get the message through your head? I'm not going anywhere near you."

"I know you want to help you husband," he insisted. And she felt a chill pass through her - because she knew what he was saying. "Please, Blair. I want to help _you_. Just meet me tonight." He was pulling out a piece of paper, pushing it into her hand - "My address."

She backed away from his touch, but the paper was already in her grip. (He saw it with satisfaction. She was still disgusted, but depseration was winning).

"What's going on?"

He was stopped by the icy voice of Carter Baizen; he sighed.

"Nothing, Baizen. Mrs. Bass was just going on her way."

Carter's gaze narrowed on Blair - he hadn't heard what they were talking about, but he'd seen Montgommery push the paper into her hands.

"I'm just leaving," Blair said tightly. "Good day, gentlemen."

Carter turned on Adrian once she'd gone. He already knew it was pointless to ask the man what he was up to. Stopping him from entering the building, however - that, he could do.

He tipped a nod at one of the doorman. "Sorry, Montgommery. No vermin allowed." His eyes were hard. "I'm sure you understand."

Adrian rolled his eyes. "Calm down. I'm only coming to tell you that I've registered my report. You should expect a court summons within the week." His mouth was a grim line of satisfaction. "I'm sure you'll pass the message on to Mr. Bass."

* * *

Chuck felt like the ceiling was pressing down on him. The papers were blurring in front of his eyes and they didn't even _mean _anything any more. The sun was already sinking lower and lower in the sky - taking with it any chance of getting any closer to a solution.

Because there was none.

Another wasted day, going over the accounts - and nothing.

He could feel panic rising in his throat, inevitable and all-consuming. There was no way out. He was going to let them all down. Fail them all.

He needed to get out.

He knew Blair would be at Serena's - they were meeting that evening to discuss plans for Faith's birthday party. And much as he wanted to sink into her arms - he didn't think he could handle the failure. Because he was failing her, too. And he'd put enough on her this week anyway. She should at least be able to enjoy one evening with her best friend.

But he couldn't sit here any longer.

* * *

Blair sat on the chaise lounge, twisting the paper between her hands. Over and over again. She'd sent Dorota home for the day - for once, the maid had just been getting in her way. She was alone in the penthouse.

Chuck needed her. She needed to save Chuck. When she looked at it like that - what choice did she have?

How could she ever live with herself, knowing she'd had the choice to save him and hadn't?

She rose to her feet, ignoring the tremor that passed though her. She'd made up her mind. She picked up the telephone, fingers sliding the dial with determination. Each slide bringing her closer and closer.

"Humphrey residence?"

"Yes. Fetch me Mrs. Humphrey, please."

Serena would be disappointed - Blair was already working out how early the next morning she could get there instead. She'd make it up to her and Faith. But she didn't have a choice. Save Chuck. That was all that mattered.

* * *

"Carter?"

He glanced up from his own copy of the accounts as Eric entered his office.

"Have you seen Chuck?"

Carter arched an eyebrow. "Do I look like his keeper?"

But Eric wasn't joking. "His room's empty. We were supposed to be meeting after my afternoon classes." His brow was creased in worry. "There's no sign of him."

Carter bit back a sigh. "Great. I knew it was just a matter of time before he lost it." He'd seen that state the man had been in for the past week. "That's all we need," he muttered irritably. "Wasting time trying to talk him down from a rooftop - or pulling him out of the gutter."

Eric was too concerned to laugh, though.

Carter rolled his eyes and got to his feet with great reluctance. How had he ended up as Chuck Bass' minder? "I'll go to his penthouse and see if he's started on the scotch yet. You find his wife." He pulled his coat on, scowling. "God knows she's the only one who can talk any sense into him."

The younger man tried not to show just how relieved he was. "I think Blair's at Serena's. I'll go there." He glanced at Carter. "Thank you."

Carter looked a little annoyed. "Look, I just don't want to have to tell the judge that my so-called partner is mentally unstable. Or bedridden with alcohol poisoning. Because I don't think that will help our case much." He stalked out.

* * *

When he got to the penthouse, though, and persuaded the doorman to let him in, he found it empty.

Just brilliant.

Muttering under his breath about the incompetence of certain Basses, Carter strode over to the telephone. He'd call the Humphreys and tell Blair to start hitting the bars. What a lovely situation Bass had left his wife in. Knowing his luck, he'd end up having to accompany her too - Humphrey was far too much of a pansy, and even the younger van der Woodsen probably wouldn't know where to start. Because, obviously, this was just what Carter wanted to do with his evening. When he had a million dollar company to save.

He was on the verge of picking up the receiver, when a scrap of paper caught his eye. It had been wedged down the side of the table - and if it hadn't been for what he'd seen earlier, he probably wouldn't even have noticed it.

He picked it up, scanning the address. He _knew_ the address. Knew it because he'd had his PI tail the man.

The phone rang at that moment.

"Carter?" Eric's voice, anxious on the other end. "Serena said Blair cancelled. Is she at the penthouse?"

Carter closed his eyes.

"No." His hand tightened over the piece of paper. "Bass isn't either. You need to find him, and tell him to snap out of it and get to 23 on Fifth. Immediately."

He hung up and turned on his heel.

Montgommery was good, he'd give him that.

* * *

Eric glanced at his sister once he'd replaced the receiver.

"Chuck's not there." He shook his head. "I don't...I mean, I don't even know where to start. If he's not at the office, and he's not at home-"

Serena paused a moment.

"I think I have an idea of where he might be," she said slowly. She worried on her lip. "But we have to hurry."

* * *

"Blair."

His green eyes glowed at her in the dim light of his room. He advanced, and before she could stop him, was helping her out her coat. She caught herself flinching even at that contact - he noticed, and sighed.

"I'm glad you came," he murmured.

He reached for her waist to guide her to into the parlour; she pulled away, moving of her own accord.

"I'm here for Chuck."

He ignored that, offering her the loveseat. Room for two.

She went straight to the armchair instead.

His mouth did twitch, at that. "You're not going to make this even a little easy?" His eyes were mocking her. When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "Let me get you a drink."

She opened her mouth to refuse, but he was already pouring the wine. He handed it over as he gazed at her. He made no attempt to disguise it, and she felt ill.

"So." Her voice was stiff. "Are you going to drop the charges or not?"

He chuckled. "Straight to business, I see." He shook his head. "You're something, Blair. Do you know that?"

She just pressed her lips together. She didn't want his little jokes, like he knew her - she just wanted to find out what he wanted and get this over with.

He watched her, the slender fingers gripping her wine glass and pale throat, lithe form still so errect. He might have almost felt a flash of - something, seeing her so uneasy and still so determined. As it was, though, was enjoying this too much. Having her so completely at his mercy.

He stretched out languidly on his own chair. Yes, he was going to enjoy every last second of this.

* * *

The sky was darkening as they hurried through the graveyard; and they found him, their brother, collapsed against an all too familiar headstone. (Serena had been there enough times.)

"Chuck."

Eric spoke softly into the hushed night.

Chuck's eyes were dark, darker than the air around him. "What?" His voice was coarse.

"You need to come with us," Serena pled.

"I can't do it." He shook his head, barely able to get the words out. "There's nothing I can do."

Eric knelt at his side; Serena gripped his other shoulder.

"You can," she promised. "You'll find a way." It wasn't her script - it was her best friend's. But right now she didn't know what else to say. The words always seemed to work for Blair.

"We're going to fight this," Eric added. "Chuck, you're not doing this alone. We're all here."

Chuck was silent. Serena squeezed his shoulder, and Eric gave him a little nudge. And Chuck nodded, faintly, eventually. He breathed out.

He seemed to realise something as he glanced up at his sister. Frowned.

"Where's Blair?"

* * *

She'd had enough. She couldn't take it any more; she set the wine glass down, untouched, and gripped her hands in her lap instead.

"What do you want?" she demanded rigidly.

Those green eyes regarded her as his finger traced an idle circle of his own wine glass. He tilted his head. "I suppose the real question is...what do you want?" A faint smile curved at his mouth and he leaned in, still studying her. "What are you willing to give me, Blair? How far are you willing to go?"

Blair voice froze in her throat (to save Chuck, anything) - but at that moment, there was a faint commotion from the hall. Adrian's smile disappeared as he glanced round.

Carter Baizen strode in, followed by an irritated maid. "I told you, sir, Mr. Montgommery said no visitors-"

Carter ignored the woman. "Get up," he instructed Blair, easily. "We're leaving."

Adrian rose to his feet. His eyes were narrowed and dangerous. "The only person leaving," he replied, "Is you. I don't believe I invited you into my home, Baizen. Kindly get out."

He was so slick that Carter actually debated punching him. He might even have done it - but he didn't want to get his hands dirty. Better to stick to his policy of letting others throw punches for him. His lip curled into a hard smirk instead. "Don't worry, I'm going." He nodded at Blair. "Mrs. Bass. Move."

"Why don't you let the lady alone?" Adrian interposed silkily. "She came up here of her own accord. And we have business to attend to."

"You don't," Carter asssured him. "She's leaving. Now."

"She's not going anywhere." Adrian's voice was a little more menacing.

Carter acted as though he hadn't heard him. "Get up." He addressed Blair. "There's a car waiting downstairs, and I'd rather not waste any more of my night. So get your coat, and let's go."

"Baizen-" Blair started, tight.

"She's here," Adrian snarled, "Because she _wants _to be here. No one's forcing her to do anything. Now get out." His smile slid back, cold and unforgiving. "We were just about to come to an arrangement." He glanced at Blair. "Weren't we?"

Blair felt her stomach turn.

But she realised Carter wasn't going anywhere (and she didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed) - so she got to her feet, shoulders still tense.

Adrian reached for her, but Carter was already motioning her away with a mutter of, "Finally."

She saw Adrian's fists clench - and for a moment, she was afraid he was going to try and stop both of them. But then he just shrugged.

"Fine. That's your chance gone, Blair. You can forget saving him now."

It took all her effort not to shake as she pulled on her coat, tears of shame that she refused to let escape. Shame that she'd come here, or shame that she'd failed - she wasn't sure which.

Carter was quite impassive as he led her to the door, slamming it in Adrian's face. (It really was surpsrising, how much satisfaction that gave him).

"What are you doing?" she snapped at last, once they were in the elevator on the way down. "I was just about to-"

"Give him exactly he wanted," Carter snapped back. "I thought you were supposed to be intelligent? What exactly were you thinking?"

"I was thinking," Blair seethed (she wouldn't cry. She would not cry), "That I had the chance to save Chuck. And you just ruined it."

"And it didn't occur to you," Carter sneered, "That getting you to betray him was just another of Montgommery's ploys? I realise you and Bass share your own brand of bizarre, but surely even_ you_ didn't think sleeping with someone else is something you could get past?"

Blair flinched. "I wasn't going to _sleep _with him." But her voice nearly caught - because had that really been what she was prepared to do?

Carter just scoffed. "No, I'm sure the thought didn't even cross your mind when you went to his penthouse _alone._ Why would anyone possibly think that?"

Blair ignored him. "I could have saved the company. I could have stopped all of this-"

"You can't honestly tell me you think Montgommery would have stopped?" His voice was cold.

"And you don't think it was worth a try?" she hissed. "Now we'll never know."

Carter gave her a look of indcredulity. "You_ really_ think that your beloved Bass values a company over _you_?" He shook his head. "I can't work out if you're stupid or just insane. That, or there's something seriously wrong with your self-esteem. Which," he reflected, "I know is not the case. You're as vain as he is." He snorted as he straightened his jacket. "I'm inclined to go with insane."

"It's not just a _company_," Blair bit furiously. It was his legacy. It was his father. It was everything he'd spent the past few years trying to make himself worthy of.

The elevator finally reached it's destination, and Carter let out an irritated sigh.

"Please." He made no move to open the doors. "Don't insult my intelligence. Why do you think I agreed to Georgina's little plan on the Olympic?" He shot her a flat look. "I'm not _psychotic_. Sadism doesn't really do it for me. I knew hurting you was the quickest way for Chuck to give me what I wanted.

"Hell, just kidnapping you would have been enough to make him do anything." He paused a moment. "Admittedly, I didn't factor in that my accomplice was an actual psychopath.

"But what would possess you to think," he sighed, "That, after all that, Bass would merrily sign you over to settle a court case? I mean, do you really think your logic makes any kind of sense? Are you telling me I wasted all that time and planning?" He watched her. "You're telling me him practically _crying _was all for nothing?"

Blair was silent.

Carter raised his eyes heavenwards. "Fine. I've spent far too much time tonight chasing after Basses. Feel free to carry on in your deluded way. God knows I have better things to do."

He pulled the door open, already heading out.

Blair followed him numbly into the foyer. She realised that she was exhautsed. She half closed her eyes as she waited for Carter to call the car around, drained.

"Blair."

She heard his voice echo round the foyer, her name guttural in his throat as the door was thrown open. He was standing there, pale, eyes blazing; and he moved straight to her.

She vaguely heard Carte grumble a _you're welcome, _but Chuck had already dragged her out of the building. He spun her round to face him as his gaze burned into her, gripping her forearms. "What were you _doing_?" he growled.

She wanted to lash out with all the convictions she'd been building all day, all the arguments she'd thrown at Carter - but for some reason she found her voice sticking in her throat.

"I don't know," she whispered. She took a shuddering breath, and realised to her horror that she couldn't control her tears any more. "I wanted to help you."

She sounded about as pathetic as she felt. Was this really Blair Bass, a snivelling wreck in her husband's arms? What the hell _had _she been thinking?

"I just wanted to save you."

He stared down at her, fingers still curled around her arms - his equal and his other half, shadows in her eyes just like his - two messes standing on a street corner.

He released his hold, and she folded into his chest. And his hands travelled over her back and her hair as his lips lowered onto the top of her head, inhaling her. The heat of his mouth imprinted on her forehead, her scalp, her neck; and he murmured, so low that she only caught it, into her ear - her skin - "You did." (A long time ago). He lifted her chin up fiercely, eyes glittering black in the streetlight. "Together. We work together, always."

And she gazed up at him, still blurred with tears - her broken mess - and she nodded.

* * *

**A/N Ok, I really hope you don't hate me for using the IP storyline...I still find 3x17 hard to watch. I do want to point out that I didn't want this to just be a retelling with a Chuck who would never do something like that. Because, much as it pains me to say it - I don't think it's completely OOC for him. And, contrary to what I've written in this fic, I don't think it was as simple as him choosing Blair over the hotel - on the show, anyway. **

**But for the Chuck in my story - 1) It's not a case of Uncle Jack screwing with his head (or the whole weird Jack/Blair thing that I don't think Chuck had ever really forgiven); 2) He doesn't have the same mommy issues/betryal going on; 3) His relationship with Bart is a little more stable - he hasn't lost his all chance at resolution with his father yet; 4) He's been in a stable relationship with Blair a lot longer. My point is, this is Chuck at a different point than 3x17 on the show. I don't think that there are the same circumstances that would make him even consider it at this point in my story. **

**Sorry for the long A/N - but I hope that makes sense! **

**Also...it took Chuck long enough to accept Blair's 'I love you' on the show. I don't think for a second that hearing it from Bart would make him do anything other than _completely_ freak out. The resolution may be coming - but it won't be that easy. Thanks so so much for all your reviews :) Get prepared for some group scheming next chapter...**


	13. Chapter 13

"So." Serena smiled at Jenny. "How is everything?"

They were seated around the table for breakfast; Jenny had cancelled on them several times already this week, finally reflecting that she could maybe fit them in for a morning reception. Dan had been a little perplexed – even annoyed – that his sister didn't have time for him, but Serena had assured him that it was normal.

"She's just getting into her stride, Dan. You have to let her enjoy this."

Jenny picked at her eggs benedict now. "Fine," she answered coolly. She couldn't help but feel slightly resentful that she had to breakfast with her shiny sister in-law when she had things to do.

"How are you getting along with Beth?" Beth was Serena's midwife - the blonde had been all too happy to share her now that Jenny was expecting too. She wanted to make an effort with the girl. She had her loyalty to Blair, of course, but Jenny was still Dan's family. Serena saw no reason why there had to be issues when Blair wasn't there.

Jenny sighed. "Actually, I'm not seeing Beth. I have another midwife."

At that, Serena glanced up in surprise. "Was there a problem?"

"No," the other girl shrugged. "I just felt this one was better. She knows more what she's talking about."

"Oh."

There was a momentary silence; Dan swallowed a mouthful of eggs. "Well maybe you should recommend her to see Serena?" He waved his fork around. "I mean, we don't want to take any chances." He grinned a little at his wife; she smiled back, and Jenny tried not to roll her eyes. "What's her name?"

The girl paused. "Actually, she's...hard to see. She has a lot of custom - she's very selective in who she chooses." She picked her words carefully, sending a brief glance to Serena. "I doubt she'd take you."

Serena paused. A light frown wrinkled at her brow - she was aware that there was a slight in there somewhere. But she shrugged it off.

Dan wondered if he'd misread it.

Luckily, an oblivious Faith chose that moment to knock her glass over, pulling all the attention onto her. It crashed onto the china plate, smashing, and spattered the pristine table cloth with orange juice.

"Oops."

There was a silence.

Faith looked up at her mother - she'd been making the most of her knife and fork, but more food seemed to have ended up around her mouth than in it.

She gave a brilliant smile. "I'm sorry?"

Serena couldn't help it; her mouth twitched, faintly. Dan looked as though he were about to tell her off for her carelessness - but even he couldn't manage to stay reproving. (She was going to break as many hearts as her mother with that smile.)

Jenny tried to be as enchanted with Faith as everyone else was. She really did. But she couldn't help but think, spitefully, that it was nothing more than a facade. Dan wasn't her father. (And she knew the truth about Serena now, too. Serena hadn't even wanted her). If people knew the truth, they probably wouldn't think she was half so adorable. And it wasn't fair that everything was already so easy for the girl. She was little more than an infant, and she belonged in ways that Jenny never would.

Jenny had used to look after her, as a baby - when Serena had first moved to Brooklyn under the guise of Savannah, and Jenny had assumed they were just the same as the Humphreys. She'd found the little girl adorable then - and she'd always been one of Faith's favourites. Auntie Jenny.

Then Jenny went to England - and when she came back, Serena and Faith had resumed their place in the Upper East Side, and Faith had all but forgotten her.

She knew she was just a child.

But sitting there, looking at the thorough mess of the table she'd striven so hard to be able to own - and at the little girl's mother, just smiling at her antics like she'd done something wonderful - it wasn't fair.

She called sharply for the maid to clean it up. And she couldn't help it; couldn't help the sour expression as she took in the still grinning child.

Dan seemed to notice, and cleared his throat.

"Sorry about that, Jenny."

Serena remembered to look guilty too. "I'm so sorry. We'll replace the glass. And the table cloth."

And somehow that just irritated Jenny further. Like she was desperate for the money that Serena wafted around. It just came across as condescending - of course Serena would generously pay for it. (And why hadn't they told Faith off yet? Or got her to apologise?)

"Don't worry," Jenny bit. "I'm fairly sure I'll manage. _Thank you_."

Serena hesitated. She could tell Jenny was annoyed, but - it was an accident.

Faith, meanwhile, was quite content to go back to her food. "Can I have some more eggs?" She glanced between the adults, face still smeared. "Please?" she added as an afterthought.

Serena smiled, faintly; she leant over with a napkin to wipe the food off the little girl. Dan ladled the egss onto her plate - she had them waiting on her hand and foot.

"Does anyone else want any?"

"No thank you."

Jenny had already crossed her knife and fork over her own plate. The sooner this breakfast was over with, the better.

Serena, however, was smiling as she happily helped herself to more. "Oh, definitely." She turned her smile to Jenny to try and build another bridge. "Are you sure you don't want any? I'm always so hungry now. You must be too."

Jenny tried not to cry out in frustration at Serena's perfectly oblvious beam. Why were they here, patronising her and asking _questions_?

(Neither had even mentioned her Waldorf Designs venture, she thought with fury.)

"No." Her tone was a little nastier than she'd anticipated. "I don't actually want my figure to go to waste." She pressed her lips together as she faced the other blonde down. There could be no doubting the implication this time, even to get through Serena's mane of gold - though she was half expecting the smile to still be there.

Serena raised her eyebrows. She recognised the insult - she just wasn't sure where it was coming from.

"Have I done something to upset you, Jenny?"

Jenny tried not to glare. She felt like a child being chasitised. (Instead of the actual child who _needed _to be chastised). "No," she answered sulkily. "But I have things to do. I actually have an interview with Eleanor. So, do you mind?"

Dan frowned. "Hold on a minute, Jen, we've just got here. And why are you being so rude to Serena?"

"Because I'm _busy_," Jenny snapped. She gave her brother a look. "I wouldn't expect you to understand. The most work you get is sweeping the gallery floor." Dan opened his mouth in amazement, but Jenny wasn't finished. "And the most Serena ever does is fix her hair or have lunch with Blair. I have _actual_ work. And people to meet." She'd risen to her feet. "You can see yourselves out."

Dan just gaped.

"Jenny." Serena still sounded confused - but there was an edge of hardness, now, that very rarely showed itself in her voice. Dan noted it with some disconcertment. She gazed at the girl. "I've only ever tried to be nice to you. I know you have your feud with Blair, but-"

"This has nothing to with Blair," Jenny interupted. She arched an eyebrow meanly. "When are you going to realise, Serena? You and Blair are irrelevant." Her gaze was so challenging that Dan was thrown. "Your era? It's over."

Serena stopped.

She just stared at her for a moment.

Then, shaking her head, she got to her own feet. She lifted Faith up, too, taking the little girl's hand. "If that's the case," she said flatly, "Then why are you so desperate to work for_ Blair's_ mother?" She pulled on her husband's arm. "Come on, Dan."

The three of them left, Dan still stunned - for once - into silence. What had happened to his little sister?

* * *

Chuck lay back against his pillows, eyes drifting half closed. Blair was already up - he could hear her moving around in the next room. The second she got back in here, he was dragging her back to bed. Dressed or not.

She'd told him point blank that he wasn't going to the office on a Sunday, to which he'd insisted that they couldn't afford to waste a day. They'd yet to hear from the magistrate, but the letter was any day in arriving. Chuck still felt sick just thinking about it. They'd called off all their social engagements as it was. (Blair had claimed poor health). And they weren't any closer to coming up with anything.

However, Carter's private investigator had finally returned from Los Angeles with news on Montgommey. So Chuck had agreed to a compromise - they wouldn't go to the office, but they'd meet the man later that afternoon.

Truthfully, though, lying on his back with his wife's imprint in the sheets - he realised he was looking forwards to a Sunday morning of forgetting about all of it. If only briefly. He was just deciding what to order the cook to make for brunch - if he got pancakes for Blair, then he had the perfect excuse for strawberries too, and he was looking forwards to the taste of them on her lips - when a sound made him glance up. Blair was groaning from next door.

He pushed back the duvet, making his way into the bathroom.

His wife was huddled over the chamberpot, white. She retched again; and he was at her side, hands sliding over her back. He held her hair behind her head while she vommitted into the pot.

"Go away," she mumbled in between. "...Have any idea, how undignified..." She groaned as she retched once more.

He rolled his eyes and ignored her, of course.

He sent the pot away when he was sure she'd finished, giving her water to get rid of the taste and a damp cloth to wipe her face. She felt much better once he'd pulled her, shivering, into his arms; she leant against his chest with another little groan.

"I'm telling Serena that Faith is hereby forbidden from ever _helping _to make cakes again. I knew they tatsed tasted off." She was still grumbling as Chuck lifted her over to the bathtub. "Little monster made me feel so guilty I had to eat five." She shuddered as Chuck untied her nightgown, raising her arms to slip it off. "Never again." He smirked faintly, and she glared at him. "You think this is _funny_?"

He poured in the hot water that had already been prepared, rolling up the sleeves of his nightshirt as he reached for the sponge. "That a five year old is capable of emotionally manipulating you?" His hand buried in her hair as he tipped water over the dark tresses, and she leaned her head back. "Yes."

She allowed herself to enjoy it, pain in her stomach receding as she reacted to her husband's touch. Her brown eyes narrowed in reproach as she gazed up at him. He squeezed the sponge over her body, rubbing it across her back. "Like you can talk," she accused. He caressed her shoulders, firm, as he soaped more water across her soft skin. "Exactly how long did it take for Uncle Chucky to agree to play hairdressers? As I recall, it was just one look of those big blue eyes."

He winced, remembering the tangle of bows in his hair that had taken hours to remove. His hands crept back up her spine, thumb brushing the base of her neck as he massaged oil into her own wet curls. "You agreed we weren't going to mention that ever again," he growled. Blair had had to cut a _chunk _out of his hair just to get the last ribbon out. That week had been a good one for hats.

"Why?" Blair smirked, leaning back against the tub as she luxuriated in Chuck's fingers tangled in her hair. "Not many _wives_ have a lock of their beloved's hair. It's rather a nice momento."

She yelped in indignation, smirk wiped off her face as Chuck tipped the next lot of water directly onto her head.

"Hey-"

He'd already scooped her out of the tub and thrown her over his shoulder, still soaking. Her wet body squirmed against his as he carried her through to their bedroom, dropping her onto the bed.

He pinned her wrists above her head, body covering hers as his lips sought damp skin. She whimpered in pleasure at the feel of his mouth, a little too caught up to care that water from her hair was soaking into she sheets, her wet back arching against the mattress as she forgot all about the morning's discomfort.

* * *

"I need to talk to you."

Serena dropped onto the armchair next to her brother. She'd called round with Faith, to check on Lily - the little girl was currently helping her grandmother to pick out a necklace while she and Eric sat in the parlour.

He glanced up. "What is it?"

"I need your help." Serena chewed on her lip. "It's actually about Jenny."

"Jenny Dalgaard?"

"I think we've somehow created a monster," Serena sighed. "Or...she created herself. I'm not sure. But she's made it her mission in life to replace Blair. First the baby, then the girls, and now Waldorf Designs...Normally, I'd be the one trying to stop Blair from _completely_ destroying her, but-"

"But she's got enough on her plate," Eric finished.

"Dan's worried about her," his sister confessed. "And I'm worried about Blair. This is the last thing she needs. It's not like I can help with any of the Bass Industries or Chuck problems - but Jenny, I could at least get out of the way."

_Our era? Over? _

"She needs to be stopped."

"Exactly." Serena nodded. "The only problem is...well, annihilation is usually Chuck and Blair's realm of expertise." She knew her schemes weren't exactly the best. And she was stumped for ideas. "Is there any chance your many hours with Chuck might have rubbed off on you?"

Eric laughed slightly. "I don't know if I want to answer that." Serena pulled a face in agreement. Emulating Chuck Bass was...definitely not right.

"I thought two heads would be better than one, anyway. And," she admitted, "Apart from them, you're probably the cleverest person I know. After Dan," she added loyally. But they were both thinking it - Dan would never scheme. He'd just end up getting in the way with his principles.

Eric glanced at his sister teasingly. "Well, with compliments like that..."

She squeezed his hands. "What do you say? A van der Woodsen takedown?"

He grinned. "I'm in."

* * *

Andrew Tyler entered the Bass penthouse with some trepadition.

He'd left Bart Bass's serivces a while ago, lured by Carter Baizen's higher fees - but working for Baizen hadn't proved any less tiresome than working for the Basses. If anything, Baizen was even more unreliable. Andrew had been sent after enough dodgy gamblers to dig up dirt for the man - at least working for Bart, he'd got to deal with men of consequence. He'd dug up the kind of dirt that could rock the foundations of the very city.

Baizen was almost impossible to reach most of the time, and, despite his original fat fees, notoriously unreliable with payments. He'd passed Andrew along, carelessly, to a Humphrey who hadn't had the faintest clue what to make of him, while Baizen himself was on the other side of the ocean. And not even for an interesting case - just to track down a clueless blonde.

He'd been hoping, when he'd heard the name Bass, that he'd get a chance to redeem himself with the old man. Instead, he was on the way to meet the man's son. A boy probably no more reliable than Baizen. He hadn't particularly enjoyed Los Angeles, either - too hot, and the people were practically uncouth.

He was shown into the front room, now, and met with a trio.

Baizen he knew, obviously. The girl, he'd met just the other week when he'd been sent on his task - though Bass senior had asked him to compose a file on her years ago, so he knew enough about her - and Bass junior, of course. Who he actually had several files on.

"What have you got?"

It seemed Bass Jnr. had inherited his father's patience too. Andrew repressed a sigh, of course - he was a professional, and pulled out a folder.

Straight to business.

"Adrian Montgommery. Born in Los Angeles - parents Richmond and Rosemary Montgommery." He flicked through the papers. "There wasn't much to find about his early years. He was an only child, bright - top of most of his classes at school. Good at maths. It has in the school records that he missed two months when he was eleven; there was some kind of accident at home and he broke all his ribs. From the sounds of things, he wasn't too close to his parents.

"He ran away from home when he was sixteen. Disappeared down south and was virtually unheard of for the next few years." He scanned his notes. "He may have gone to Kentucky or Tennessee - his mother was a Buckley, so he had family there."

Blair knew the Buckleys well, thanks to Nate. Not that he'd ever been particularly interested in the Van der Bilt/Buckley warfare - but Blair had learnt all the facts just for the Van der Bilt family gatherings. (The last thing she'd wanted was a faux-pas in front of Nate's grandfather.)

"The only information I could get was that he started Montgommery Finances there."

Chuck paused, at that, remembering what Bart had said about the company being southern based. So maybe his father hadn't been lying.

"He moved back to Los Angeles after his mother died. There was some kind of cover up over the cause of death - I did some digging, and it looks like Montgommery senior may have been under suspicion, but the charges were dropped. And the whole thing's been wrapped up very carefully.

"Montgommery started working with his father, in any case - he expanded Montgommery Finances along the West Coast, started building up the company's clientel.

"There was a fire a year later. The Montgommery mansion burned down - Adrian was out of town, and his father managed to escape. There was an invesitgation, but the verdict was accidental."

"Any bodies?" Carter asked slowly. Chuck and Blair knew what he was thinking.

But Andrew just shook his head. "From the looks of things, just the household staff. Two manservants, an unidentified woman and child - presumably one of the staff's family - and Richmond Montgommery's beloved pets. They reckon he only got out because the dogs started barking and alerted him to the flames."

"Insurance money?" Chuck pressed.

Andrew shook his head again. "They got a pay off, of course, but they were hardly in need of it. They moved to another townhouse, and Adrian set up more offices. There seem to have been a number of charges over the years - blackmail, assault - but none of them ever stuck. All paid off."

Chuck's heart sank a little. Nothing there, then.

"From what I could gather, people were scared of Montgommery, but he put on a good front. Rich, successful - a respectable accountancy firm. The general opinion was better than his father's, anyway.

"He set up offices in Manhattan two years ago, and moved out here himself in April."

"That's it?" Blair demanded. "He's never had any dealings with Bart Bass?"

Andrew shook his head. "I couldn't get any any evidence of it."

"What about his father?" Chuck reached over to see the papers for himself. "Mongommery senior?"

"I found out as much as I could. He comes from a well-off family of landowners - the Montgommerys are one of the big ones. He met and married Rosemary Buckley in his forties, when she was twenty. But as far as I could tell, he's never even been outside California. And he's never met Mr. Bass."

Blair and Chuck exchanged a look. Why, then? Why was Montgommery going after Bass Industries?

"Are you sure?" Carter frowned. "Is it not possibe Adrian went to Manhattan while he was supposedly down south?"

"I checked," Andrew sighed. "No record of him. The most I got was an article about his mother a few years ago, before she married Montgommery - she was on the island for a bit. But she never crossed paths with Mr. Bass either. And she was pretty young."

He showed them the newspaper clipping - a wide eyed girl from the society pages, penned a _Southern belle - _and Chuck was ready to dimiss it when something caught his attention. He frowned. Adrian's mother had been photographed with another girl - one who looked eerily familiar.

_Society beauties Rosemary Buckley and Eleanor deWinter. _

"Blair," he started, voice slow. "Is that your mother?"

* * *

Kati and Iz exchanged glances. "Blair's not here _again_?" The girls had met for lunch - and it had been over a week since any of them had even seen the brunette. They stared at Serena with thinly-veiled curiosity. "What's wrong with her?"

The blonde waved her hand in a vague direction. "Just...not feeling well, still." Apparently she and Chuck were meeting with his lawyers - lunch with the girls was the last thing on Blair's mind.

At that moment, Jenny entered.

"Sorry I'm late."

But this time, she wasn't hurrying in to fight her way for a seat. She'd kept them waiting. She deliberately sat at the other end of the table to Serena, barely acknowedging her as she turned to the rest of them.

"I had a dress fitting."

The coos were instant, demanding to know how it had gone and what the dress was like. Serena just shook her head. Jenny didn't seem to realise that she wasn't Blair - she could care less about Kati and Iz. They fluttered around like butterflies, flower to flower; they'd flit back just as quickly. Serena had never really even noticed.

"It's so incredible that you have time for all this," Kati sighed.

"And in your conidtion, too..."

Jenny's eyes flickered briefly, challenging, to Serena - the other pregnant woman. And Serena was aware of a slight sting as she recalled the girl's comment from the other day. That all she did was fix her hair and have lunch with Blair. _That_ made her frown a little, defensive.

"I just can't believe you're already three months along! And you can barely even tell." They gazed at Jenny's figure enviously, and Jenny felt a flash of triumph in the comparision with the more unwieldy Serena. She'd stuffed the front of her dress - but not too much. Not yet.

"Just some alterations I made to my dress."

Unfortunately, though, the talk turned from there to babies. Jenny wished they'd shut up about the stupid things. She wanted attention for her success - not the lie she'd made up. Why weren't they asking her more about her designs?

"There's nothing more wonderful than the feeling of them kicking," Iz sighed. "I know Freddie was an abslotue nightmare - kept me up all hours!"

"Yes," Jenny agreed. "I think my ribs are bruised!" She'd heard women say it before. "I was thinking of designing something-"

But Kati and Iz were frowning in confusion. "Already? That's early."

Jenny froze.

Serena had paused too, noting for the first time Jenny's discomfort. She smiled warmly at her. "Maybe it's wind."

There was a stifled laugh from the other two; Jenny stiffened in embarrassment. She looked up to see Serena's radiant smile, and the blonde simply tilted her glass at her, blue eyes bright.

* * *

Blair slipped onto the chaise lounge with her husband, leaning back agains his chest as she nestled in between his legs. She felt Chuck exhale into her hair, fingers idly tracing her forearms.

The meeting with the lawyers had not gone well. It turned out the Luccios had skipped town - so they didn't even have the former accountants to question. Chuck had been informed that they needed to talk to Bart. She'd felt his fingers flex under the table - tight, a split second - before he'd smoothly replied that his father was indisposed, and he'd rather not drag him into it.

The lawyers had just shaken their heads and stated that Bart would need to know sooner or later. A court case was now inevitable. And even if by some miracle they managed to win, the Bass name would be dragged through mud from the scandal alone.

Chuck was running out of options. Any chance of solving this without his father knowing was getting smaller and smaller by the day.

"I've booked the train tickets," he muttered now. "Saturday after next."

Westchester.

Bart.

Blair turned in his grasp, hand sliding to his cheek as she gazed up at him. Her slender fingers traced his cheek and jaw. "We're going to stop Montgommery," she promised.

Further investigation had shown a couple more articles about Eleanor and Rosemary - and there was no doubting it. Adrian's mother had once been friends with Blair's.

But did that mean Montgommery was actually going after _her, _and not Bart?

Blair had gone to see her mother the other day, in the hopes of finding out. They hadn't spoken properly since the Waldorf Designs fiasco. Blair had arrived at the penthouse just as Jenny was leaving; she'd swept past the brunette with a sense of satisfaction. Blair's eyes had narrowed, skin prickling at the sight of the girl in her mother's home, baby bump and all - but she'd had bigger things to deal with. (Jenny hadn't been able to wipe the smile off her face all the way home. Finally, she was beating Blair. She'd_ shown_ her. And she couldn't help the giddying sensation of knowing Blair's biggest secret. Knowing she wasn't as perfect as she appeared).

Eleanor, however, had not had the time or the inclination to deal with her daughter. The second Blair had mentioned the name Rosemary Buckely, Eleanor had practically driven her to the door.

"Darling, I don't have time to reminisce about acquaintances from twenty years ago." She'd dismissed it with an impatient wave of her hand. "Yes, I knew her. I haven't seen her since. Now if you don't mind, dear, I'm supposed to be meeting Laurel."

Blair had supspected that her mother might be covering something up. But what? Was it just a coincidence? After all, why would Montgommery go after Bass Industries if he really was after Eleanor? Neither Chuck nor Blair believed in coincidences - but even this seemed a little far-fetched. There had to be something they were missing.

Chuck glanced down at Blair, now, pulling her more firmly round onto his lap. He wasn't thinking about Bass Industries anymore. His grip tightened on his wife, curling her precious hair behind her ear. He was going to destroy Montgommery. One way or another.

* * *

"That could work?" Serena suggested hopefully. "If it gets out that Damien's sleeping around and selling drugs..."

Eric shook his head. He'd told her what he'd overheard - but it still wasn't enough. "We'd have no proof. It's not like anyone he sells to would own up to it." And as a man, his reputation was of little regard anyway. The ambassador could get away with whatever he wanted.

His sister frowned. "There has to be a way." She slumped back against the cushions in a most unladylike fashion. Dan was working late at the gallery, and Eric had come round for more plotting. The problem was, they weren't getting anywhere. Serena didn't want to completely humiliate or destroy the girl (she wasn't Blair) - she just wanted to stop her. And stopping her meant blocking her path to all of Blair's endeavours.

"What about the lovers?" she wondered, remembering the conversation Eric had overheard. "Do you think it's true? She has a line of them?" That would certainly tarnish her rerputation.

The two of them exchanged a glance. And then they laughed. Jenny was doing so much social climbing there was no way she'd have time for even _one _lover.

"All right," Serena admitted ruefully. "Probably not." She paused. And then she frowned, suddenly. "Do you think she and Damien aren't...you know, then? If Damien is really having that many affairs?"

Eric shrugged. "Or he's just a womanizer."

Serena tilted her head thoughtfully. "You know, come to think of it - I can't really imagine them."

Her brother looked a little disturbed. "I...don't really want to?"

"No," Serena insisted. It wasn't like her to be all that observant - but thinking back on it, she couldn't remember ever seeing them so much as affectionate towards each other. "I mean, do they even speak to each other?" Had she just not noticed?

"They don't seem very close," Eric confirmed. He, at least, _was_ observant enough to have noticed. "But what of it?" After all, plenty of husbands and wives didn't speak. It didn't mean the wives weren't expected to carry out certain marital duties.

Serena sighed in frutration. "I just...I don't know." She was trying to think of weaknesses that Jenny had which Blair didn't. After all, Jenny had managed to go after Blair's weaknesses. "How did she even manage to meet Eleanor? And why would she have taken her on?" However far Jenny had climbed, there were girls by the ton with more pedigree than her in Manhattan. Eleanor agreeing to it seemed to good to be true.

And then the perfect timing of the pregnancy...

Eric had been thinkng the same thing. "The baby," he mused. "It couldn't have come at a better time, could it?"

The blonde stared at him for a moment. Jenny's discomfort, earlier - "You don't think..." Then she shook her head. "No. No one would do that. She may have gone a little off the deep end, but...even she wouldn't go that far."

"Who wouldn't go that far?"

They were interrupted by a curious sounding Dan. They'd been so busy talking they hadn't even heard him enter - he glanced between brother and sister, now, in slight surprise. It was late for Eric to be here.

"What's going on?"

Brother and sister exchanged a look.

"Nothing," Serena tried to promise.

Dan's brow furrowed a little - she was hardly convincing. He'd thought they were past all this. "Serena?"

His wife chewed her lip. Was it really worth telling Dan? She turned to her brother for guidance, and he merely shrugged to say _up to you. _

Serena exhaled. "All right, don't take this the wrong way..." Those words did not exactly instill Dan with the greatest sense of confidence. "Well," she swallowed. "Do you think there's any chance that Jenny would ever...lie about being pregnant?"

* * *

**Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I'm so glad people liked the last chapter :) **


	14. Chapter 14

Of course Dan had refused to believe it. He'd ended up getting angry. Jenny was his little sister, for God's sake. He didn't care about the influence of the Upper East Side - he was pretty sure he knew her better than Serena did.

He was standing the Dalgaard's foyer now, ready to prove Serena wrong. _Of course_ Jenny was pregnant. Who could lie about something like that?

She entered at that moment - and a flicker of irritation crossed her face when she saw her brother. Not that she didn't want to see Dan; but when she'd been informed that she had a visitor, she'd been hoping it was that reporter from the Times. And she hadn't spoken to her brother since the disasterous brunch. In all honesty, she'd been avoiding him ever since she'd started this whole charade.

Growing up, she'd used to tell her big brother everything - until the day she'd realised that she had thoughts, dreams that Dan would never understand. He didn't understand that you needed to do whatever it took to get what you wanted. (And, secretly, she knew he'd be disappointed in her. All the shame that she'd pushed aside - he would voice it).

He didn't understand _her_. He didn't realise that she'd grown up. All she would ever be to him was the innocent little sister in need of protection from the big bad Upper East Side - and she hated it. As much as she loved Dan, she was both suffocated by and starved of the attention she really wanted. Not a baby. An adult.

In Brooklyn, when it had felt like it was the two of them against the world - Dan had used to listen to her. He'd take her advice. And then she'd grown up and he'd failed to realise it. It had started with Damien courtng her - Jenny had been thrilled beyond belief, unable to believe her luck. And Dan had been appalled. He'd switched straight back into judgemental big brother mode, and nothing she did got through to him. It had been her _chance. _So she'd ignored his wishes to go to England with her new husband.

Then Jenny had moved back to New York, and Dan had married Serena - and she'd thought they were on even footing again. But she'd realised, eventually, that the only way to get anywhere was to move away from him. Dan was stuck in the past. Bound in his own world with all his morals and prejudices.

He'd never understand her.

He smiled at her, now. "I just thought I'd come and see how you were doing." He paused. "You know...since the weekend."

She looked up at him, expecting to see reproach; and it was there, but it was clear he hadn't come for a fight. He wanted to see her - he was trying to make up with her. And she felt a pang of guilt.

"I'm sorry," she admitted. "About what I said. It was mean, and unnecessary."

"It was," he agreed. But he seemed relieved that she was apologising. (Serena and Eric were so wrong. At the end of the day, the Humphreys were still the Humphreys). He grinned as he scratched his head. "So...do you have time for tea with your brother?"

Jenny was about to say no, automatically - but looking at him, her brother, she felt that guilt again. How long had it been since she'd spent any length of time with him?

She smiled. "Yes. I...do."

* * *

"No, Dorota," Blair snapped impatiently. "The bayonne ham. You know Chuck hates gamon."

Dorota rolled her eyes, biting back a grumble about how exactly she was supposed to remember Chuck's long and intricate list of preferences on top of her demanding mistress's. She had a great soft spot for Chuck - but she was and always would be Blair's maid first.

Blair moved her out of the way to ensure that the dinner she was bringing to Chuck was perfect. He was working late at Bass Industries again, and she'd decided a picnic just for the two of them was exactly what he needed. She was planning on surprising him.

"Dorota," she wailed now as she spotted something else. "You cut the bread into triangles? You know how I feel about sharp corners. What is wrong with you today?"

The maid threw her hands up in exasperation. She took the bread away from her mistress and was turning to start again, when she noticed Chuck standing in the doorway.

He was immaculately dressed in a tuxedo, a box casually under his arm and a look of great amusement on his face as he watched his wife. Dorota exhaled in relief; Chuck smirked at her, and she was already exiting the kitchen.

"And is this _lemon _dressing on the watercress? Do I have to do everything myself?" Blair still had her back to the door as she grabbed the dish, expecting Dorota to be there to take it away. "Dorota?"

She turned, annoyed, ready to bite the maid's head off - and jumped when she was a faced with a pair of hazel eyes and one very amused smirk instead.

"Chuck!" She stared at her husband in shock, about ready to berate him for sneaking up on her. "What are you doing here?"

He was still smirking as one arm wrapped around her waist, the other offering her the box. He loved catching her off guard. (It didn't often happen). "Delivering you this."

Her eyes narrowed in confusion as she opened it, revealing blue silk wrapped in tissue. She lifted her eyebrows up at him, and he cocked his own back.

"Does it satisfy?"

She ran a hand over the fine material, relishing the rich colour - "It's beautiful." But she was still confused as her eyes flickered over his suit. "What's going on?"

"What's going on," he frowned, "Is that you have less than an hour to get ready." He gazed down at her, thumb grazing her waist. "So I'd advise less asking questions and more dressing up, because I'd much rather see it _on_ you."

She was still staring. "Bass-"

He pulled out a white card to hold in front of her face. "Or did you think I'd miss this?" Her eyes widened as she recognised the invitation. How the hell had he got hold of it? "My wife gets invited as a special guest to the Observer's anniversary party and doesn't tell me?" His lips pursed. "Who are you, and what have you done with Blair Bass?"

She was already shaking her head. She knew the last thing he wanted was to waste an evening standing around being polite at yet another event - which was exactly why she hadn't told him. "We're not going."

His eyes were dark. "Are you insulting my taste? Because I know that dress is perfect. So what possible reason would you have to not attend?"

"Chuck," she sighed. "Don't be stupid. I know you don't-"

"We're wasting valuable time here." He cut her off easily, already guiding her to the door. "Especially if you want Dorota to curl your hair."

She turned in his grasp, trying to stop him. She ended up grabbing his lapels. "Chuck. Stop. You don't have time for this - I know you don't."

"I have time," he growled, "To watch my wife get the honour she deserves. Always." His hand was already on the small of her back, firmly pressing her up the stairs with the box. "So move it."

* * *

"So, what did you say the name of your midwife was?"

Jenny tried not to roll her eyes at yet _more _baby talk. They'd managed to avoid it for a while now; she'd just been starting to relax.

"Amy," she answered diffidently.

"And how is she?"

Jenny just lifted a shoulder. "She's good. Like I said, she knows what she's talking about. Do you want more tea?"

Dan accepted the teapot, though he couldn't quite stop himself watching his sister. Serena was wrong. She had to be. And he was going to prove it.

"When did you say you were due again?"

Jenny frowned. "Haven't I already told you?"

No, Dan realised. No - she hadn't. "I don't think so."

"December," she said impatiently. "You know, the same month as Serena."

"Serena's due in January."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "All right then, a month before her. Sorry."

Dan swallowed his tea. He was imagining things now. Jenny wasn't getting defensive - he was just jumping to conclusions because of what Serena had suggested.

"So what did your midwife say?" His sister gave him a slightly incredulous look, at that, so he hastily tried to cover. None too subtly. "I just...you know, I think Serena's has got her eating all these foods. I just wondered if yours was doing the same." Pathetic, and he knew it.

"No," she answered. Her voice was a little sharp now. "Why all the questions?"

Dan attempted a nonchalant shrug. He rubbed his hair, awkwardly. "I...nothing. Nothing."

Jenny's eyes were narrowed in return. She knew her brother. "Dan. What is it?"

"It's just -" he sighed. "Look, Serena said something. Something...pretty absurd. She seems to think you might be...pretending to be pregnant." He stared at her. "That's not true, though, is it? I mean, it's just insane."

Jenny had gone very still.

Dan stared at her. No. No way. "Isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she hissed. "What's_ wrong_ with you? Who would _pretend _to be pregnant?" Her voice was rising with hysteria. "I should have known you'd take her side. Can't you see she's making up stories about me? Blair probably put her up to this."

Except it was all shooting out a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively - and the overreaction was out of place.

Dan continued to stare at her, brow furrowed.

"You _believe _her?" Jenny cried.

"Jenny," Dan said very slowly. "Are you pregnant?"

"Yes!" She jumped to her feet, shaking. "I can't believe you even have to ask. You know what, Dan? You can leave. Just go back to her if all your going to do is listen to her lies." Dan went to open his mouth, reufsing to move, and she almost lost it. "I said just_ get out_!"

She'd actually snapped - and, when he still didn't go, she whirled out of the room herself.

And Dan just sat there, stunned.

His sister was lying.

* * *

Chuck smirked as he watched the mayor's wife rush up to greet Blair, the mayor himself kissing her hand warmly. He'd gone to the bar to get them both drinks - but watching Blair in power mode always aroused him. And he couldn't help it, the prickle of pride as she commanded the room; because his success was hers. They'd been to enough events where the attention fell, naturally, on the husband rather than the wife - there weren't many women that could claim equal attention like Blair did.

(With the exception of Serena, perhaps; but then she _was _married to Humphrey. A wallflower would get more attention than him).

Watching Blair was a welcome distraction from everything else. Watching her happy somehow stopped him from feeling like a complete failure.

Which was why he stiffened when the sound of a familiar voice dragged him all too unpleasantly back to Bass Industries.

"Ah, si - but if you looka at it in this way-"

Chuck's head snapped round instantly. Giovanni Luccio was standing at the other end of the bar, in the middle of attempting to impress a well-dressed couple. Chuck couldn't believe it. He was _here_? The little rat, acting like nothing had happened?

He strode over to him.

"Luccio."

Giovanni paused, and turned around. The Italian man's smile dropped as soon as he recognised him. "Ah. Mr Bass." He shifted on his feet - and the couple he'd been talking to leapt on the chance to escape. Giovanni's scowl deepened as he realised he'd been left alone at the bar with the man. "What," he said grumpily, "You want to fire me again?"

"Fire you?" Chuck's tone was like flint. "Don't you mean _arrest _you?"

Giovanni's eyes bulged for a moment. "Ah, what?"

"Drop the act," Chuck snapped.

Giovanni gulped. "Look, Mr. Bass, I make one small mistake - but you understand, I was having a bad day. I can do the exams. I cana pass them - it was just one small sleep. One smalla lie on my resume - is not a crime-"

Chuck's eyes narrowed in disbelief. "What the hell are you talking about?"

The other man paused. "Ah...you don't mean the accountancy exams?"

"No."

His face brightened a little. "Ah, well in thata case - I said nothing. Was just talking rubbish, si? I think I need to go, now-"

"You can stay right where you are," Chuck growled, and the man was forced to stop; afraid. "I'm talking about the Bass Industries accounts. About the years of fraudulence that you and your brothers have committed. Why don't you tell me about that?"

Giovanni looked a little confused. "Fraudulence? What you mean?"

"You know _exactly _what I mean."

But Giovanni was shaking his head in protest, clearly more than a little terrified by the other man's intense stare. "No, no I don't - I am not included in any of this. My brothers, they don't even want me working for them. Not any more - they fire me. They tell me nothing!" He added, grumbling, "They don't even tell me they are going on holiday to Roma. No invitation, no nothing. They disappear to see Mami and Papi, and they tell Giovanni nothing."

"They skipped town, you mean." Chuck's voice was icy. "Ran away so no one could catch them."

Giovanni scratched his head. "No, no - they went to Roma. Their servants tell me nice man pay for their trip." He scowled. "Does not pay for Giovanni, of course. Oh, no."

Chuck paused. "A nice man? Who?" He had a nasty feeling he already knew.

But Giovanni just shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?" He went to move away, but suddenly found his path blocked by a pair of furious black eyes.

"Sit down."

Swallowing, he did as he was told.

"Do you have any way of communicating with your brothers?"

"Si," Giovanni muttered. "But they don't answer my letters. I only asked to join them-"

"But you have their address?" Chuck interupted.

"Si."

"Do you have copies of the accounts that they kept?"

Giovanni shifted a little on his seat. "No," he admitted. "I am not allowed to see-"

"Can you _get_ copies?"

The Italian man sighed. "I suppose I can. But they will be very angry-"

"_I_," Chuck bit, cutting him off, "Will be very angry if you don't. So I suggest you procure them with all haste."

* * *

Ingrid Haversham had taken to her bed for all intents and purposes. With her reputation now in tatters, she hardly dared venture beyond the walls of her penthouse. Her husband wasn't speaking to her. (He'd been all too happy to turn a blind eye to her habit until it actually reflected badly on him). Needless to say, she'd been removed from the Colony Club.

So when she was informed that she had a visitor, she was more than ready to tell whoever it was to leave. She was indisposed. But when she found out that visitor was none other than Jenny Dalgaard, she was gripped with rage. The little bitch who had destroyed her. She threw back the covers with an energy her maids hadn't seen in a while, snatched up her robe, and stormed downstairs to confront her.

Jenny, however, had ignored the stream of abuse.

"You might want to listen to me. I have information that you can use."

Ingrid had paused at that. Deeply suspicious. "What?"

An expression of grim satsifaction crossed Jenny's face. "I know the truth about Blair Bass' marriages. Both of them. And," she added, eyes gleaming, "I know the truth about Serena Humphrey's daughter."

* * *

Chuck had convinced Blair to go ahead with the Girls Foundation lunch she'd been planning, and he and Carter were in the middle of going over more of Montgommery's evidence when Giovanni entered. He looked decidedly uncomfortable to be in Bass Industries again, let alone facing Chuck, but he'd brought a large box of paperwork.

Chuck leapt up instantly. "Is that it?"

"Si," Giovanni grumbled. "I have to enter family vault - they will not be happy when they find out I did. They tried to block me out. Apparently Giovanni, their owna brother, can not be trusted."

Chuck ignored his complaints, already pulling out the paper work. He and Carter spread it out on the desk, turning their attention straight to it.

And it became apparent very quickly that these were not the same accounts Montgommery had presented them with.

* * *

Serena grew distinctly unsettled as she sat down to lunch with Kati and Iz - and Serena was never unsettled. She frowned, wondering what was going on. She was used to people talking about her; but what was this?

Kati and Iz were hardly looking at her. Jenny, sat at the other end, was ignoring her.

The only reason she went to these lunches was for Blair - to keep an eye on Jenny's activities. Otherwidse she probably wouldn't have bothered. But what was going on now?

"Is there a problem?" she asked at last.

Kati pursed her lips. She and Iz exchanged a glance. "Actually, we should probably be heading off."

Serena stared. "But you've only just got here."

At that moment, Blair appeared. All of them turned to her in shock - and Serena with genuine relief. "B! You came." She stood up to embrace the girl, but Blair's eyes were narrowed on Jenny and Jenny alone.

"Would you like to tell me why," she asked - and her voice was cold and deadly - "No one turned up to my lunch today?"

Kati and Iz stilled, but Jenny simply shrugged. She faced down the brunette, just as challenging. "How should I know?"

Blair gave a snort of derision. "I've watched your pathetic attempts to go after me - and this has your grubby little fingerprints all over it." Her gaze was dangerous. "I may have been lenient so far, little J. But no more. You crossed a line - and you're going to pay. Believe me."

Jenny felt her skin prickle - _little J_, again. But she wasn't little J anymore. And it was about time Blair knew that. She folded her arms. "Oh really? _You're_ planning on making me pay? I'd love to see you try."

Blair's nostrils flared.

"You really shouldn't have said that," Serena murmured.

But Jenny just laughed. "Haven't you heard?" She gazed across at them. "The whole of the Upper East Side knows your sordid little secrets. Ingrid Haversham told the Colony Club about your affair, Blair. They know the truth about you and Chuck." Her eyes brushed on Serena. "And they know that your dead husband is really the father of your best friend's daughter." Her pale blue eyes were hard. "That might be why no one wants to come to your house for lunch. I'd be surprised if you were even still in the Girls' Foundation."

And Serena and Blair could only stare. All the blood had drained from Blair's face. Jenny felt a twist of triumph. She'd done it. She'd finally _done _it.

She got to her feet, nodding at Kati and Iz. "I think I'd rather lunch elsewhere. Are you coming, ladies?"

Kati and Iz just gave Blair and Serena looks of reproach. And then they followed Jenny out, leaving the two former queens of the Upper East Side in horrified silence.

* * *

"This makes no sense."

Carter shook his head.

"None of these accounts match up to any that we have in the offices." The ones Giovanni had presented were systematic and legible - nothing like the scrawling Italian that Chuck and Carter had spent the past several days pouring over. But, more importantly - they showed no sign of any financial transgressions.

They'd questioned the Italian fiercely (he'd left with absolute relief, vowing never to come within ten feet of a Bass or Baizen again), and there could be no doubting it. These accounts were definitely from the Luccios' private ones. Each signed by Vincent. And each nothing like the ones Chuck and Carter had. The only accounts that matched up were the ones that Giovanni himself had made during his short time at Bass Industries.

So if the ones from the Luccio safe were the real ones -

"Montgommery switched all our paperwork."

It was the only explanation that made sense. And Chuck already had a nasty suspicion that Montgommery had been the one to then convince the Luccios to leave town.

"He just didn't bother with Giovanni."

(Probably assumed that he was too useless to be of any threat).

"This system makes sense," Chuck murmured, glancing over the alternate accounts again. "I knew Bart wouldn't have allowed his accountants to keep such sloppy records."

So if they really were the real accounts - they'd need it verified, of course, and they'd need to speak to the Luccios themselves - then Bass Industries was saved.

Which was all Carter cared about; but there was something prickling at the back of his mind. Because he knew Montgommery. And this all seemed just a little too easy. Creating imaginary fraud problems? Forging paperwork and switching it?

It was cunning, but not exactly foolproof.

Chuck may not have known Montgommery as well as Carter - but something didn't sit quite right with him either. Why go to all this effort for something that could be overturned so quickly?

The only conclusion that Carter could draw was that Bass Industries couldn't have been Montgommery's end goal. But then _what_?

At the same time, though, Chuck couldn't fight the relief that there was finally an escape route. That the company might not be destroyed. They still had Montgommery to worry about - but at least they would now have a chance in a court case. If there was the smallest chance that Bass Industries was saved - then it made Chuck breathe just that little bit easier. He needed to tell Blair.

* * *

He strode back to the penthouse with a one goal in mind. They hadn't won, yet - but they had a chance now, and he was itching to strategise with his wife.

He tapped his foot impatiently in the elevator. He was pretty sure the lunch would be over by now, so he'd have her all to himself - and, sure enough, the penthouse was empty.

"Blair?" He moved up the stairs, searching for her.

She met him in the hall - and he lifted her up instantly, pulling her close as his grip sought her waist. "Guess where I've just come from?" He smirked down at her - then he stopped, abruptly, as he finally took in her face. She was white.

He set her down, thoughts of victory rapidly disappearing. "What's wrong?" His mind leapt to Montgommery - had he -

She shook her head, rapidly fighting back tears. "Nothing - what were you going to say? Did Giovani get back to you on the files?"

"Yes," he dismissed, "They're not the same as Montgommery's." Hardly important now. "What happened?"

She managed a watery smile. "Chuck, that's fantastic!"

He caught her, frowning. "Blair."

She just swallowed. "They know."

And he felt a prick of dread as he realised she was actually fighting tears, her voice about ready to break. He grabbed her chin, tilting her up to him. "Know what?" What the hell had happened? "Who know?"

"The Colony Club," she gasped. "The Girls' Foundation. Everyone. They know about - me and you. What I did. The baby." Her voice caught, horribly. "They might know about the baby." Jenny hadn't mentionned it - but if she somehow knew about the affair, then Blair was sure the little cow had got her claws into the rest. She'd already flown straight to the right women to try and save herself - and had been met with pure ice. They wouldn't talk to her, and they didn't want to know.

Chuck stilled. "What?" That was impossible. "How?"

"Jenny." She spat the gir's name, but her shoulders shook as she finally raised her eyes to his. "I'm ruined. They don't - want - me anymore." She looked up at him helplessly. She wasn't _allowed _to be anything less than flawless. "I can't come back from this. It's over."

He could only stare, jaw rigid. Quietly, he took her in his arms, pressing her head into his shirt. She clung to him, shaking her head.

"It's over."

His grip tighetened as he buried his mouth in her hair.

"It's not," he promised. His voice was tight and low, almost a threat. "We're going to fix this."

* * *

**A/N - Apologies for such a Jenny heavy chapter. Don't worry, she's going down...NJBC style. (Well, minus Nate). And as if Queen B would give in that easily.**

**Thank you so much for your reviews!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Sorry for the lull in updates - I started an au pairing job last week and the woman I'm working for is literally terrifying; it's taken me this long just to pluck up the courage to ask for a wi-fi password. And I haven't had a single spare moment anyway - I don't know why I thought looking after four children under the age of ten would be easy! But I'll try to get the next chapter to you as quickly as possible...**

* * *

Adrian opened the envelope with a sense of satisfaction. There it was. All too easy to procure. (Of course, the name Montgommery would mean nothing to her. Unlike his mother's maiden name).

_You are cordially invited to the Waldorf Designs exhibition, featuring the work of Mrs. Eleanor Waldorf._

He'd been banking on the fact that Blair wouldn't have told her mother anything about the Bass Industries disaster - and he'd been right, of course. To Eleanor he was simply a respectable accountant. An up and comer in elite Manhattan society.

Finally - finally, something had gone right. Something was falling into place.

Because he'd heard the rumours, and he was irritated beyond belief. Firstly, because if anyone was going to destroy Blair, it was him.

And secondly - scandal? She would overcome that. She would be horrified, of course; but he knew what she was like by now. It wouldn't crush her. If anything, it would make her stronger. He wanted real emotional devastation. Not the attempts of some girl desperate to be her.

The Bass Industries scam had failed - he was pretty sure they'd work out, soon, that the claims were false. Which was besides the point. The point was - Blair hadn't gone for it. And he'd been so sure she would. So sure she'd do anything to save her husband. (If it hadn't been for Carter, he might have been telling a different tale).

But he had the invitation now.

And after tomorrow night - everything was going to change.

* * *

"But-"

"No buts." Blair cut Eric off instantly. "She needs to be destroyed. Dead and buried, with no chance of a resurrection." Her lips were pursed, tight. She'd long overcome that moment of weakness in Chuck's arms. Blair did not sit around feeling sorry for herself - she annihilated. "I'm going to obliterate her."

"_We're_ going to obliterate her," Chuck corrected. He was smirking, but his gaze was hard. He'd tried buying numerous people off (without telling Blair, obviously) - but reputation was still reputation. And for all the equality that Blair had created for herself, a woman's reputation was still based in perfection rather than intimidation. He'd tell them all to go to hell. Screw the lot of them, and damn the consequences - but it was Blair. And it was the reputation she'd spent her whole life working for. So he was going to get it back for her, one way or the other.

Even Serena nodded. Her blue eyes blazed cold. "She won't be crossing us again." Faith's headmaster had politely suggested she take a few days off school after she'd pushed over some boy in her class.

_"He called me a bastard, mama. What's a bastard? Why was he so mean?"_

She'd been crying for a long time.

Eric shrugged. "I was just going to say, you do realise Jenny doesn't stand a chance?"

* * *

They were interupted, mid-scheme, by none other than Dan Humphrey himself. Chuck's scowl was instant - he'd _told _them they should have met in the Bass penthouse. Going to the Humphrey (van der Woodsen) home was just asking for trouble. But Serena had insisted that Dan was spending the day with his new friend Jack. Serena almost wanted to meet the artist that seemed to have helped her husband come to terms with life on the Upper East Side (forgetting that she'd met him at the Waldorf Designs shoot, of course).

But now Dan blanched as he took in the Basses, atop his chairs like they owned them. How was it that they managed to make him feel awkward about coming into his own home?

"What's...going on?"

The four of them exchanged a glance that did nothing to put his mind to rest.

Only Chuck seemed unfazed. "We're working out how to destroy your sister," he drawled into the silence. Those lazy hazel eyes challenged him with dark amusement. "Do you have a problem with that, Humphrey?"

Dan couldn't quite bring himself to _look_ at the man without wanting to hit him, so he turned to his wife instead. "Uh, Serena? Is that true?"

Serena paused a little. "Well...yes."

They waited to see what the man would do, Serena's eyes the ones with a hint of anxiety. (Of course she felt a little guilty, but she wasn't about to back down either).

"Dan, she's out of control," she insisted.

Blair was less insistent and more murderous. "She's gone too far."

And then, to everyone's amazement, Dan dropped - only a little awkwardly - down into one of the armchairs. He still remembered looking at his sister and not even recognising the girl in front of him.

"So...what are you planning on doing?"

Chuck and Blair lifted their eyebrows at each other. Jenny really had gone too far if she'd managed to turn even Humphrey against her.

"I want to help her," Dan added quickly. "Obviously. Not destroy her. All I care about is getting her out of this world. I want my sister back. And," he glanced at Serena; "You were right. She's not pregnant." His voice was still confused, still a little disbelieving. "She's _lying._"

Blair just snorted. 'Well, obviously." And the fact that Jenny had resorted to a pregnancy ruse just proved how desperate the girl was. And how much of an amateur. (Good initially, as it had _hurt, _as Jenny had obviously known it would. But too full of flaws.) Blair rolled her eyes. "If you want to help, Humphrey, you're going to have to keep up."

"So the exhibition is the best time to strike." Chuck had already picked up on their previous conversation, now ignoring Humphrey entirely. "We expose her for the fake that she is. Once they find out the truth about her-"

"They won't believe a single word from her mouth," Blair finished off. "She'll be done." She glanced over at her husband. "But the exhibition is on Saturday. When we're supposed to be in Westchester."

Chuck opened his mouth to disagree (he didn't want to see Bart. Or maybe he did, and that was what was terrifying him. The company may not have been in peril any more, but there was still the small case of those three words his father had said to him. Words that he'd thus far refused to even consider). "Actually-"

But they were interupted by yet another entrance to the room, as one severely annoyed looking Carter Baizen was shown in by the maid.

He'd been searching for the bloody Basstard everywhere - and it was the _last _thing he wanted to spend his evening doing. (It had been happening far too much lately).

"Finally," he snapped. He made a slight scoffing noise as he scanned the room, taking them all in. "Actually, I don't even want to know."

He'd already positioned himself on one of the chairs, ignoring a scowl from Dan.

"I've got news on Montgommery." He addressed Chuck and Blair alone. (He still wasn't looking at Serena, the blonde noted sadly). "My PI has been tracking his moves, and apparently he's got himself invited to an event this Saturday." His mouth was a grim line. "The Waldorf Designs Exhibition."

Chuck's eyes slid to Blair's.

"Well," he murmured. "Looks like we'll be going there after all."

* * *

That Saturday evening was warm and sultry, the sun disappearing in a haze over the city. Blair carefully smoothed the cream tulle of her evening gown, fingers lingering on the plane of her stomach. She frowned for a moment as something occurred to her. Calculations. Surely -

"Ready?" Chuck smirked as he slipped behind her, fingers sliding around the peach satin of the sash at her waist. He pressed a kiss to the base of her throat, lips hot. Because nothing got their blood coursing like a take down. Or the hint of danger underlying it.

She arched her back faintly against him, tilting her head back to give him further access to her neck as he growled in satisfaction, tounging the sweetness of her skin.

"Chuck," she purred. "We have to go. No time for this."

"Mm." He ignored her, fingers already creeping to her skirts. He pushed her back against the vanity, hitching her onto the surface as his body pinned her to the mirror. His hands caught the lace to push it up beyond her hips, hungrily seeking the stockinged thigh underneath.

She moaned faintly as his fingers buried in her curls; but she was already very aware of the advantage she now held over him. And she pushed him away, gripping his shoulders. He scowled at the loss of contact, reaching for her again. She held him at bay.

"Chuck." It was still low and sensuous in her throat, but there was a hint of warning even as she toyed with his peach cravat. "What exactly did Bart say to you?"

His glower was instant. "You're asking me about my _father? _Now?" They both knew all he was doing was avoiding the question. "I knew you were kinky, Mrs. Bass," he murmured, "But I hadn't realised it extended to this. And I'm not sure I can indulge-"

He received a light slap on his arm, of course. (Well, considerably light. It still stung).

"Why don't you want to see him?" Blair demanded.

Chuck attempted to pin her back against the vanity to shut her up, but she was having none of it.

"Chuck."

He sighed in frustration. Sometimes marrying someone as stubborn as he was could be a curse. Just sometimes. He didn't quite give in, though; hands still tracing circles on her thighs as he reluctantly stopped kissing her.

"He wasn't making any sense," he muttered now. "Clearly the medication or the fall did something to his mental capacity for the day."

She arched an eyebrow at him. That pretty much confirmed what she'd been wondering - though she'd honestly thought it was impossible. Just Bart saying it.

"He loves you, Chuck."

Chuck froze a little. He gave her a look, though he knew better than to ask how exactly she'd worked it out. She smirked in answer, though her dark eyes were serious.

"You think I don't recognise that reaction when I see it?" Her fingers entwined in the silk of his shirt, shifting further into his grip. "I may have been half delirious, but I do remember your face when_ I _told you."

Her husband's eyes softened, ever so faintly, at the memory - but he was already shaking his head. Stiff. "You're not Bart. He had no idea what he was saying. He clearly had some kind of death bed epiphany and thought it was the right thing for a father to say. But he didn't mean it."

Blair smiled as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She kissed his cheek, very softly, laying her hand there for a moment. "You know," she murmured, "I thought I was going to die." She was half wry as she admitted it. But she carried on anyway, gazing at him. "I know, it was a dislocated shoulder." She rolled her eyes. "But I don't think I'd ever hurt that much - physically - before." She swallowed. "Apart from..." His grip tightened, and she couldn't bring herself to say it - but they both knew. When she'd lost the baby. "Anyway," she cleared her throat. "It hurt. A lot. And it was dark, and I was cold...and probably delusional. Definitely delusional," she reflected.

She traced his cheek as she forced him to look at her. "But that doesn't mean I didn't mean it."

He was silent for a moment, just gazing back. His eyes moved over her face. Then, finally, he leaned forwards and placed a kiss on the top of her head, closing his eyes as he breathed her in.

"Come on."

His voice was hoarse, a little rough - she knew.

He lifted her off the vanity; she straightened his shirt, and his arm wrapped around her waist as he led her out of the room.

They had an exhibition to attend.

* * *

Chuck was handing their coats in, and Blair tried very hard not to feel intimidated as she stood by herself. It was ridiculous - just last week, she'd have owned a room like this. She was _Blair Bass. _But she'd never had to face this before. One of her worst nightmares. The looks. The averted gazes. The space she suddenly found herself in.

She was never the outcast.

She made sure of it.

A soft murmur broke out; and she turned to see Serena making her way over. The blonde's head was lifted high, seemingly oblivious to the looks. Everyone wondering how they dared show their faces at such an event. Serena strode through anyway, moving to embrace her best friend. She squeezed Blair's arm, tight.

"Ignore them."

Blair forced a smile in return.

But she would never be Serena. She could never pretend that she was oblivious to people's scorn. Never pretend that her reputation didn't _matter._

Serena linked arms with her anyway, already steering her towards the main doors. This was Blair's mother's event, after all - they had more than every right to be there.

"Come on."

A hush settled the ballroom as the two of them entered.

Blair swallowed, but she forced herself to meet their gazes, Serena practically holding her up. She wasn't a coward. It didn't make the silence any less disconcerting, though.

"Ladies."

Chuck emerged behind them, already holding out a hand for her. He guided the small of her back as he followed her further into the room, giving one particularly unsubtle woman a look of sheer disdain. She hastily glanced away. The message was clear - he was Chuck Bass. And no one looked at his wife like that. Upper East side royalty remained royalty no matter what.

And Carter was there, too; and he actually allowed himself to glance at Serena. He gave her a small wink - despite it all. She smiled back. Dan would be arriving later with Eric; and, for now, she accepted Carter's proferred arm. The thought that he might not hate her after all was a relief.

* * *

Adrian prowled idly through the back rooms, taking in the prepatations for the exhibition. He'd slipped in easily enough - easy. It was all so easy. He'd seen Blair, standing alone in foyer while Chuck went to cloakrooms; but the blonde had got to her before he could. (Again). He'd seen her lift her head up and march into the ballroom anyway - as he'd suspected she would.

He hadn't seen Eleanor yet.

Oh, but he would.

Just knowing she was in the next room was enough.

He sauntered into the dressing rooms, eyes flickering over the dresses laid out. He slashed a few of them - under the skirts, of course, so it wouldn't be obvious until too late - for his own amusement. It would reflect badly on Eleanor; but it wasn't like any of them were the woman's own work. More like he was undoing hours of seamstresses' labours.

There was one dressing room sectioned off from the others - Jenny Dalgaard's, apparently. His lips curled a little. He recognised the name. The girl who'd gone after Blair, if he wasn't mistaken.

The room was locked. Nothing a twist of his knife didn't solve. He entered, gazing round in distaste. This would hit Eleanor right where it hurt - the face of her own company. It would have been far more perfect if Blair were that face...but anyway. Lord only knew how a plain girl like Jenny Dalgaard had landed it.

Adrian was ready to slash the dresses she'd clearly laid out in preparation when he noted something. The first dress had a secret pouch sewn into the front. And the second dress. And the third. He frowned for a moment - but of course. The pathetic chit was _pretending _to be pregnant. This really couldn't have been any more perfect.

Smirking, he nicked at the pouch of the third dress. Just a small cut. Enough for the padding to come loose. There were six dresses all in all - so it would happen right in the middle of the exhibition. Perfect.

He repocketed his knife, already heading out of the room.

Time to find Eleanor and plan for his next move.

* * *

"So Dan will be bringing the Havershams," Blair murmured to Serena. "Your job is to receive them." It was easier sending Dan after them, because Jenny was less likely to cotton on to a threat from her own brother.

Ingrid had been easy enough to track down - and she'd been terrified enough of Blair's wrath (even after everything that had happened) to agree to help. The woman had soon realised what she'd known all along - she was backing the losing team by supporting Jenny. By destroying Jenny, and restoring Blair to power, she stood a chance in society again. She'd get back into the Colony Club.

And her husband had agreed to it - albeit grumpily - since it helped his reputation too.

Eric, meanwhile, had tracked down his univeristy 'friends'. Damien's clients. They'd been more than happy to cause a little havoc at an event. Particularly after Eric had shown them how much Damien was overcharging for his services. (Carter and Chuck may not have indulged in opium anymore, but they had their connections).

The plan was simple.

Expose the Dalgaards as drug-dealers. The students and the Havershams were their witnesses - the latter as unwilling and unsuspecting victims of Jenny's attempts to force opium on them, of course. The final proof was the opium that Blair was going to stash in Jenny's bag.

Her mother had been a little surprised to see her at the event at all - and had given Chuck a sharp look for a moment. But she had more important things to worry about; an exhibition to organise. She'd waved Blair along, assuring her that she could go wherever she wanted so long as she didn't get in the way. So Blair now had access to the dressing rooms.

And while all of this was going on - Carter and Chuck would be watching out for Montgommery. They had yet to see the man, and were growing increasingly uneasy. He had to turn up at some point, surely?

All they could do was wait.

* * *

The exhibition kicked off with the usual fanfare, music from the orhcestra dying down as the first pieces were shown. George Harrison, as the primary benefactor, was introduced and gave the usual dull speeches. The real excitement, though, stemmed from the concept of a live model. An actual girl modelling the dresses.

Blair spent enough time in the room to make it quite clear that she wouldn't be running away any time soon - before making her excuses and disappearing into the back rooms, opium hidden and to hand.

Jenny had already passed her. She'd been decked out in the first dress, hair arranged and a look of triumph on her face as her eyes passed Blair's, coldly. A grim smile of satisfaction.

And as people had gathered around the blonde to praise her appearance, she'd simply tossed her hair in Blair's direction. She'd won.

Blair had smiled sweetly back before she'd slipped away, straight for the girl's dressing room. Oh, little J. Silly girl. She was going to enjoy every second of this.

She was poised, now, carefully concealing the bundle under the rest of Jenny's possessions so she wouldn't notice it until it was too late. Really, a bag search was humiliating enough. And the second the mission was accomplished, she turned back to go and rejoin her husband - to sit back and enjoy the show.

She was just on her way out of the rooms when a familiar voice caught her attention. Her skin had prickled, naturally - but then she'd frozen as a second, familiar voice had joined it.

Her mother.

"I don't believe we've met," Eleanor was saying. "A pleasure, Mr. Montgommery."

"Oh, the pleasure's all mine."

The woman's voice had a hint of command. "But I'm afraid you're not allowed to be in these rooms. I'll have to ask you to go back into the ballroom." Pointed. "I'm sure you don't want to miss anything."

"Actually," Montgommery smiled, "There was something I wanted to show you."

Eleanor, dismissive - "I really don't have time-"

Her voice was cut off, and Blair tensed. She was hiding around the corner, and couldn't see what was going on. And it was driving her crazy.

"What's this?" Eleanor hissed. "How did you get this?"

Blair could _hear _the smirk in Montgommery's voice. And the edge of something dangerous, underneath.

"Why don't you come with me, Mrs. Waldorf, and I'll explain it to you?"

"I don't think so," Eleanor snapped. "I've a good mind to call the doormen-"

"And what?" Montgommery cut her off, smoothly. "Show them this?"

There was a tense pause.

When Eleanor next spoke, her tone was icy. "Very well. I suppose I can spare a few minutes."

Blair waited only a couple of seconds before following them, silently. They were headed straight for the staircase - up and further into the recesses of the building. She didn't have time to get Chuck. She had to find out what the hell this man had on her mother.

* * *

Chuck pulled out his gold watch, frown wrinkling his brow as he noted the time. She should have been back by now. They'd allotted ten minutes exactly - it was now fifteen. And he knew how Blair loved her precision.

He glanced over at Carter; the man was still scanning the room for Montgommery. Still no sign of him.

Jenny took to the centre of the room, smiling as she was surrounded. The dress was clearly adored. Chuck's lip curled a little, already bored. Carter wasn't even pretending to watch.

Dan would be here soon - they needed Blair back here.

And where the hell _was _Montgommery?

Carter had checked with the doormen; apparently the man had entered the event. He just wasn't anywhere to be seen. There was a momentary pause in the room, a hushed few minutes of confusion. Both Carter and Chuck turned to it - and they realised the same thing at the same time.

Eleanor was missing too.

* * *

Blair had watched Eleanor and Montgommery disappear into a side room, deep into the building; she was waiting outside now, straining to hear what was going on. To no avail. If they were in there any longer, she'd -

The door opened at that moment.

She found herself face to face with a pair of green eyes, taking her in with great amusement.

"Blair. I thought I saw you following us." He held the door open, offering the way into the room. "Why don't you come in?"

Blair folded her arms. "Why don't you come out?" she snapped back. "Chuck and Carter are on the way here now. They've brought the doormen."

He smiled, quietly. "I don't think so."

She ignored that, straining to see past him instead. Where was Eleanor?

"Mother?"

Sighing, Montgommery pushed her into the room, locking the door behind them.

* * *

Chuck and Carter moved out of the ballroom, heading straight for the back rooms. They'd been waiting too long - Jenny was almost ready to change into her second dress. They'd left Serena in charge. (At the very least, Chuck knew Eric would be there soon. Even if Humphrey did somehow manage to screw it all up).

But he had a far more pressing matter to deal with now.

"They must still be in the building," Carter stated as they strode along the corridor. "I told the doorman to tip me off if Montgommery left."

Chuck nodded brusquely. Where the hell were they? And how had Montgommery managed to get to both of them? They stopped off in Jenny's dressing room - no sign of Blair. The opium was in the bag, though, so she'd clearly managed to get that far.

Those in the ballroom had noted Eleanor's absence; but Laurel was keeping the exhibition going. Much to Jenny's obvious relief. But Chuck knew there was no way the matriarch would miss even a second of her own event.

"We should split up," Chuck muttered, tense. It would be quicker to search the building that way - but Carter was already shaking his head.

"Believe me when I say that neither of us wants to face Montgommery alone."

Not only for the sake of his own skin - well, mainly - but he knew that if Blair was in any kind of danger, Chuck would put her in front of everything instead of acting rationally. Which was exactly what Montgommery would use. (And he quite clearly remembered the events of the Olympic). Blair made Chuck vulnerable.

Carter - less so.

* * *

Eleanor stared at her daughter in disbelief; there was no emotional hugging, of course. If anything, she looked extremely annoyed.

"What are you doing here?" she snapped. "You should be outside."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Blair answered right back. Her eyes narrowed on Montgommery, who was watching them quite idly. "What does he have on you?"

Eleanor stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

Adrian chuckled at that. Enough was enough. "Oh, don't play coy, Eleanor. I think it's about time Blair knew."

Eleanor's nostrils flared. "I think you should leave my daughter out of this." She fixed the girl with another glare. "Go back to the ballroom. Now."

"No one's going anywhere."

Adrian's tone was quite calm.

Eleanor went to grab her daughter's arm, fully intending on marching her out of there - and Montgommery flicked open his knife, easily, blocking her path.

"Sit down, Mrs. Waldorf," he said pleasantly.

Eleanor looked at the weapon in amazement. Never before had Eleanor Waldorf been threatened with physical violence.

"Get out of my way," she seethed. "At once. And don't tell me what to do. I suggest you put that knife down, and let my daughter out. Immediately."

Montgommery ignored her. "Do you want to know the truth about you mother, Blair?" That green gaze fixed on her. "Do you want what she's really capable of?"

"Mr Montgommery-" Eleanor's tone was dangerous, now, but Adrian paid it no heed.

"How much do you really know about her?" he murmured to the girl. "She bullies you, ignores you...but that's not the worst thing she's ever done." His gaze flicked to Eleanor. "Is it, now?"

"That's _enough_," Eleanor snarled.

Blair glanced at her mother. What on earth had she _done_? To make her this angry? This...tense?

"No," Adrian assured her. "It's not." He looked back at Blair. "See, she wants to know now." He advanced on her a little, voice soft. "Don't you, Blair?" He reached out to touch her cheek; and Blair flinched instantly, yanking herself away.

Adrian smiled mirthlessly.

"Tell her."

"Open the door," Eleanor commanded. "Now."

She went to move him aside; and she found the knife suddenly pointed at her throat. Blair's breath choked for a second. She'd never seen her mother vulnerable in her life. And the gleam of the blade was all too horribly real now.

"Sit down."

Swallowing - still glowering - Eleanor did as she was told. Her entire body was rigid.

Adrian nodded at Blair. "You too."

She glanced between the blade and his green eyes - and had no choice other than to obey. (She also couldn't believe she'd got herself into this situation again. She couldn't have got Chuck, because it would have meant losing Montgommery and her mother. But here she was yet again. Trapped in a room. Away from him. Defenceless - and she hated, hated being so utterly helpless. She'd vowed after the Olympic. Never again).

"Mr. Montgommery," Eleanor started evenly - dignified, even forced on the floor. "I never meant to-"

Adrian was already cutting her off with a shake of his head. "Let's cut the bullshit. You knew exactly what you were doing." He turned to Blair. "Shall we start at the beginning?" he murmured. "What do you say? Do you want to start, Mrs Waldorf?"

Eleanor pressed her lips together. "I don't know what your mother told you, young man-"

"Everything." His voice was harsh now. "She told me _everything. _So don't bother trying to lie." Those eyes moved back to Blair. "Very well - I'll begin, shall I? It's somewhat of a classic tale. Betrayal. Deceit." He smirked at Blair, gaze hardening on Eleanor. "Jealousy."

"So," he sighed. "There was once a wealthy young girl from Kentucky - Rosemary, let's call her. She moved to New York as a blushing sixteen year old, and fell in straight away with all right kinds of people. One girl in particular. The beautiful Eleanor deWinter - envied by all. Feared by all. They say she had her pick of Manhattan's finest lining up outside her door." His lip twisted as he told the tale; Eleanor was silent. She could do nothing while he had the knife. "The two girls soon became best friends. Inseparable. They were the beauties of the Upper East Side - and everyone knew it.

"But perhaps the lovely Eleanor grew jealous?" His gaze narrowed on Blair's mother. "Perhaps sharing the spotlight eventually became something she resented poor Rosemary for?"

Eleanor's look back was hard. "I don't think so."

Adrian just snorted. "In any case. One day Rosemary fell in love. She met a man that she was soon head over heels for. He - Harold, let's call him - seemed equally enraptured-" Eleanor scoffed, at that, but Adrian ignored her. "-And the two were engaged within the month.

"But there was a problem," he sighed. "You see, Eleanor wanted him too. Why this particular man was so special - who knows? Perhaps it was purely because Rosemary had him, and she didn't."

Eleanor was well and truly glowering now; her eyes radiated sheer ice.

"In any case, the lovely Eleanor set about to destroy Rosemary. She ruined her reputation first, of course." Adrian gazed at Blair. "And you know just how awful that feels, don't you?" His expression was soft. "But it's not the worst thing that can happen. Is it?

"You see, Eleanor got in touch with the man's family. She told them all her lies about Rosemary. And convinced them that they should disown their son if he chose to marry her. The choice was put to the boy - and can you guess what his decision was?"

The man's mouth was a hard line now. "I suppose we'd all like to think that the one we love would pick us over everything else. But you know what it's like, don't you Blair? For the one we love to be in danger of losing everything?"

Eleanor frowned. "What are you talking about?" She stared at her daughter. "What does he mean?" she demanded.

"And you know what it's like," Montgommery carried on as though she hadn't spoken, "To want to save him. Rosemary was the same. She convinced her beloved fiance to choose his inheritance over her - and he went along with it, all too easily."

"He didn't love her," Eleanor said coldly.

"But that's not what you thought at the time, was it?" Adrian murmured. "Because he still didn't want you. So you assumed he had to still be in love with her. Which is why you sent your friend after her. To ruin her once and for all."

Eleanor looked at him. "No."

Montgommery just shook his head. "Do you know what you mother did, Blair? As I said - she was a lucky woman. She had a vast number of suitors at her door. And she sent one of them after Rosemary. One of the less...savoury ones, shall we say.

"He raped her," Adrian said flatly. "And when she found herself with child, she was forced to flee from New York. She got lucky," he went on, sneering. "She found a real catch in Los Angeles. Richmond Montgommery - a delightful husband that liked to beat her and her child for his own amusement. But at least her reputation was saved."

Blair had gone very still. The child was Adrian. But her mother - her mother wouldn't do that. She could imagine Eleanor destroying another girl's reputation. Slander. Even imagine her stealing someone else's fiance. But _rape_?

"I did no such thing," Eleanor spat. Her voice shook a little. "Whatever she told you is a lie. I had no idea about Paul. I encouraged his pursuit of Rosemary because I wanted to match her up with someone else. I had no idea he was going to do that."

Blair could only stare at her.

And for a moment, Eleanor looked appalled. "You can't honestly think I would do something like that?"

"Of course she can," Adrian interjected. "She's lived with you her whole life. She knows what you're like."

But before Eleanor could argue back, Blair spoke up. "So all this," she said quietly, "Going after Bass Industries - after me - it's all vengeance for your mother?"

Why hadn't he just gone for Eleanor directly?

"My mother committed suicide in the end," Adrian informed her. "I tried to get my wonderful father blamed - and it was his fault, when you think about it - but of course it didn't stick. I tried to get rid of him in a fire. But he even escaped that."

(Bree hadn't. Harry hadn't).

"And then one day, I heard about my cousin in Tennesse. PJ Buckely." (Bree's brother, in fact). "He's a politician. Or, he was. Some girl had landed him and his reputation in serious trouble." (Adrian had gone because it was Bree's brother). "It turns out this girl was from Manhattan." He grimaced. "And if that's not history repeating itself, I don't know what is. So I went to investigate, see if I could help the guy out - and I found out more about this girl. I think you know her too."

He watched Blair quietly.

"Her name was Georgina Sparks."

* * *

Chuck paused as he came to a branch in the corridor - because he'd spotted something. A flash of peach.

Blair's sash, tied to one of the collumns. Indicating the way to go. He couldn't stop a faint twist of pride - clever girl - and he grabbed it, motioning for Carter.

"This way."

* * *

**A/N I promise all will be revealed next chapter...and hopefully things that seem a little implausible at the moment will start making sense.**

**Thank you so much for all your lovely reviews! :)**

**Also - to Deli (as I couldn't reply to you); in answer to your questions, Jenny overheard some of Serena and Blair's conversation in the loft. Exactly what she heard will be revealed in chapters to come...And in my previous fic, Catch and Release, Serena and Nate slept together - which is how Faith was conceived. Dan has adopted Faith, though, so up till now everyone has assumed she was his. Hope that clears a few things up - thanks very much for your review!**


	16. Chapter 16

"Georgina?" Blair gazed at Montgommery in incredulity. "That's impossible."

The man gave a grim smile back. "That's what I thought. Imagine my luck - a girl who knew not only a van der Bilt, but a Waldorf to boot. A girl who already had a vendetta against them." He raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think put the idea of fire into her head?"

Blair just stared. "You? You sent her after us?"

Adrian shrugged. "Not exactly. I repaired PJ's reputation - had her sent to a family that would straighten her out. They didn't have the most positive effect on her sanity, perhaps. But I did what I had to.

"The point is that after I met her, I got to thinking. My _father-_" he said the word with a real sneer, "-May have been partially the cause of my mother's suicide. But he wasn't the root, was he?" His eyes turned to Eleanor. "If she'd had the life she was supposed to, she never would have even met him."

"I didn't force her to marry him," Eleanor snapped. "And I told you, I wasn't responsible for-"

Adrian ignored her. "Richmond is a miserable man. Nearing the end of his life anyway - alone and bitter. But you, Mrs Waldorf - you were happily married. Living the high life in Manhattan. I'm no religious fool. But I do think that meeting Georgina was what I needed to point me on the right path." His mouth was a hard line. "Justice. Vengeance, if you will.

"So I did some research. My initial plan was to go after Harold, of course - until I discovered he was living apart from you anyway. And what's the point," he snorted, "In destroying a marriage that's already a farce?" He gave the matriarch a look of contempt. "Harold never loved you anyway, did he?"

Blair cut in before her mother could, though. Icy. "I think you'll find he did."

For a moment, an odd expression crossed Montgommery's face as he looked at her. "You would think that," he said softly. But then he turned back to Eleanor. "So I set about to discover what else you had to lose. Your greatest achievements. There was your reputation, partially. Your power. The company.

"But your real legacy?" He nodded at Blair. "Your daughter, of course."

Blair was already starting to scoff. Because she wasn't her mother's greatest legacy. There were a hundred things Eleanor valued over her. Had more time for than her. She couldn't help it, though; the prickle of shame underneath. She wasn't what her mother was most proud of. The fact that she was her daughter didn't mean anything.

"You don't believe me?" Montgommery arched a brow as he studied her. "How many years has Eleanor spent moulding you? Look at you. You're a result of years of perfecting in her image." He snorted again. "She even had you marry a van der Bilt."

Blair's eyes narrowed. "I chose Nate for myself," she informed Montgommery coldly.

"Did you?" he enquired. "The idea was all yours? You met him for yourself? Befriended him yourself?"

Blair went very still.

"Would you have known him, had it not been for your mother?"

"The Archibalds were family friends," Eleanor tried to insist, furious. "Stop sprouting these lies-"

"Really?" Montgommery sneered. "And having your daughter marry the son of your rival's enemy - that didn't give you even slightest bit of satisfaction?"

Eleanor was silent.

Adrian nodded, quiet. "Exactly." He sighed. "So I moved offices to Manhattan with the sole purpose of destroying you, Blair. I'd heard about your new husband - heard from all over the place how in love the two of you were.

"Unfortunately, your beloved Chuck isn't Howard. I couldn't get him to trade you in for money. But you? You're just like my mother. You'd do anything to protect the man you love. You'd go behind his back to do it - even if it meant destroying yourself in the process."

Blair made a noise. "You went after Bass Industries...just to get to _me_?"

Eleanor, meanwhile, was looking from Montgommery to her daughter in disbelief. "What?"

And the man shook his head; of course Eleanor had no idea. "Actually ruining the company would have been a bonus," he reflected. "I believe Waldorf Designs has some shares in it. But essentially - yes. It would have damaged your reputation, your marriage - but, more importantly, you would have ended up hating yourself. Just like my mother did. And Eleanor would have lost you forever."

Blair folded her arms, gazing up at him even from the floor. "Except your plan failed."

"That part did," Adrian agreed. "I hadn't counted on Baizen actually growing a spine. But it doesn't matter any more." He glanced between the two of them with a faint, deadly smile. "Not now that I have the two of you here."

* * *

Jenny grinned as the attention reigned down on her. They loved her - everyone in the room. Her gaze skimmed the faces, though, searching for just one. Because this - she needed Blair to see.

And there was no sign of her.

Jenny felt that prickle of irritation once more. Where on earth was she? She tried to console herself with the idea that she'd probably run away; but it didn't help all that much. There was no sign of Chuck either - she must have fled into her husband's protection. Jenny convinced herself it was a victory as she smiled for yet another society pose.

Her dress was irritating her, too; she'd reached the third by now, and it wasn't quite sitting right. She'd realised in the changing room, but by then it was too late to change.

It didn't matter.

She'd won. She'd definitely -

She paused a moment as she saw Dan. Not Dan, though; because the Havershams were flanking him. What was Ingrid doing _here_? That hadn't been part of the agreement. The woman was supposed to be lying low. And her smile slipped that bit further as she realised where the Havershams were headed. Towards George Harrison.

But so what? They couldn't do anything, could they?

She'd sold opium to the Harrisons themselves.

Jenny's gaze scanned the ballroom once more. Still no sign of Blair - but Serena was there. Serena was standing with Dan. And Eric; she recognised Serena's brother. They were all standing together. Watching her.

She forced them away - it meant nothing.

Nothing could touch her now. She forced another smile, turning in the dress. And she was so busy worrying about her brother and his family watching her - about the Harrisons and the Havershams - that she failed to notice, straight away, the shift in the material. She strained to see over the heads in the ballroom.

George was glancing in her direction, now, and there was a frown on his face.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

He started to make his way over to her. She tried to stay calm, collected. He couldn't do anything. This meant nothing. The Havershams meant nothing.

Serena was still watching her.

"Mrs Dalgaard." Mr. Harrison had reached her. He ushered her over. "A word?"

Jenny managed to keep smiling like she had no idea what was going on. Nothing. They could prove nothing. George could do nothing.

"Is there a problem?"

"Apparently." George nodded at the Havershams, who had enclosed on her too. "There have been some...claims, Mrs. Dalgaard. Claims that I need to investigate."

Jenny searched his face desperately. He couldn't turn on her. He couldn't really be feigning ignorance - could he?

Goerge Harrison did not react well to blackmail. He'd been looking for a way to remove the Dalgaard problem for a while now. Some girl threatening to expose his habit unless he convinced Eleanor to hire her? It wouldn't do. And now the Havershams had presented the perfect opportunity.

"I don't think you do," Jenny kept her voice pleasant. "There's not really a problem, is there?" She was deliberate. "Mr. Harrison?"

But the man's face was impassive. "I think there is."

Jenny drew herself upwards. They still couldn't prove anything -

"I'm afraid we'll need to search your possessions, Mrs Dalgaard," Harrison murmured.

"Go ahead," Jenny laughed. Frosty. "I can assure you that you won't find-"

"What's wrong with your dress?"

Jenny stopped. Ingrid was looking at her figure in confusion. And an awaiting seamstress, hearing the magic words 'dress' and 'wrong' was on the scene instantly, hurrying to inspect for problems. There couldn't be a single flaw with any of Eleanor's work.

Jenny flinched as the woman fussed around her - "Get off-"

And she suddenly realised they were all gaping at her. Or, more importantly, at her abdomen. Her had moved down instinctively - and she froze. The bump was gone.

No.

This wasn't possible -

"You've been _pretending_?"

"No," Jenny whimpered, automatic. "No, of course not." But it was all unravelling - literally - she could feel the material she'd used as stuffing bunching at her hips. Too far below her now flat stomach.

George Harrison's eyes blazed; and everyone was whispering and staring now. Appalled.

"I'll have to ask you to leave, Mrs. Dalgaard."

"No," Jenny persisted. "No, this isn't-"

But Harrison was already nodding the way to the door. Jenny's eyes searched the room, frantic. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't all be crashing down. Exposed. Not like this. Not now -

And her desperate gaze landed on her brother.

He was looking at her with such - disappointment - such judgement, that it made her insides cripple. For the briefest moment, he almost looked as though he wanted to help her; but it was written all over his face too. He was equally appalled. (He'd tried not to believe that she could actually be lying. Not to think about it. But now here was the proof, spelled out to all of them).

Dan was looking at her like he didn't even know her.

She'd always hated the way he saw her as his little sister - but she hadn't realised that it was a thousand times worse for him to look at her like she wasn't his sister at all.

Her eyes shot to Eric, briefly, and then to Serena.

The blonde was gazing at her - and for once, there was no remorse in those blue eyes. Not the slightest flicker of sympathy. She was watching Jenny, ruined. And she shook her head, very slowly.

The message was clear.

Jenny should have known better.

* * *

"What on earth are you talking about?" Eleanor demanded. "What do you think you're going to do?"

Adrian smiled, thinly. "I would have thought that was obvious by now." He tossed a piece of paper to floor. "You can take this - I have copies. And soon every newspaper in the city will too." His gaze flickered to Blair. "It's a version of the contract she made my mother sign. Promising to stay away from precious Harold, away from New York - in exchange for keeping the rape and child a secret." He lifted a shoulder. "Once the real story gets out, Mrs. Waldorf..."

Eleanor snorted with disdain, though her lips were pressed tight together. "No one will believe you. What hope do you think you have of spreading your version of events against mine? The contract proves nothing. And if you knew the truth, Mr. Montgommery, you'd know that your mother agreed to it."

"Because she had such a choice," Adrian sneered.

Eleanor ignored him. "The fact remains that your slander will count for nothing. And if this goes to court, you don't stand a hope of winning. Not against me."

"The scandal will be enough."

"It will die down." Eleanor's lip curled. Now that she'd got over the shock of someone knowing about it, she was swiftly reaching back for the upper hand. "You think I can't control a scandal? I'm Eleanor Waldorf."

Adrian shook his head. "You haven't been listsening at all, have you? The scandal is secondary. Just more damage. Ruining your reputation isn't what I'm after - it's not enough."

"Well then what?" Eleanor snapped.

Those green eyes turned on Blair, slowly.

The mother stiffened. "I don't think so."

"Your daughter's going to die," Montgommery returned evenly. "And you're going to know it's your fault."

"Are you _insane_?"

But Blair was forgetting - Eleanor didn't know Montgommery. Didn't know his past. And the man had just admitted that he'd started the fire to kill his father. Clearly, murder was the last thing he was incapable of.

"What?" Eleanor scoffed now. "You can't honestly think you'll get away with this? My daughter has just informed you her husband is on the way. My own company is in the middle of an exhibition - do you think no one will notice that I'm missing?"

"Actually," Adrian mused; "Probably not, by now. I believe there may be a few problems with your model." He gave a nod at the smaller brunette. "You can at least rest easy that your reputation is saved, Blair. No one's going to believe a liar. I doubt Jenny Dalgaard will get anywhere near your life again. Though I suppose you'd planned for that anyway."

Eleanor may not have known exactly what he was talking about - but neither did she care. "The point is," she snapped, "There will be people here very shortly. So you can stop all of this nonsense about murder. Now."

Adrian laughed, hollowly. It was not a pleasant sound. "This door is locked. Even if they started banging at it this instant - do you think slitting your daughter's throat would take any longer than a few knocks?"

Eleanor's eyes narrowed - but the blade was already hovering, close, to the pale skin of Blair's neck; and she suddenly realised she felt violently ill. Because this was serious. And that was a _knife, _held at her daughter. Montgommery was serious.

She couldn't make him stop.

This man would actually kill her daughter.

* * *

Chuck and Carter had tried every door they could, along each of the corridors - the problem was, most of them were locked. And they were wasting valuable time in pausing to listen outside or even attempting to get inside them.

Chuck couldn't help but wonder, furiously, why Eleanor had to pick such a warren of rooms that disappeared onto the upper floors. There were only so many clues Blair could leave them. And at the moment, they were only on the second floor, and still making no progress. Chuck had grown even more adamant about splitting up - maybe that small part of him still didn't trust Baizen - but Carter had ignored him. Of course.

It was Chuck's worst nightmare all over again.

He had to get to her.

* * *

"Mr. Montgommery," Eleanor said at last. Very stiffly. "Your argument is with me, and me alone. I'm sorry for what happened to your mother. I regret it." Blair could see Montgommery's lip curl in sheer disbelief - but then he didn't realise how impossible it was to get Eleanor to admit regretting anything. She didn't _do _remorse. "But she played an equal role in our rivalry - despite what she told you, we were both in love with Harold at the same time. I didn't _steal_ him. And as much defamation as I may have attempted, I can assure you that she did the same.

"We were two young girls squabbling over one man. We were both foolish. I made a mistake in encouraging Paul's attentions - but what you're suggesting is proposterous. I never intended for him to hurt her. And the contract? That was drawn up by both of us. Neither of us wanted what had happened to get out. I understand," she said, tightly, "That Rosemary was your mother. And that you're more entitled to believe her version of events. But what I am telling you is the truth. Neither of us acted honourably.

"The unfairness is that one of us was more hurt than the other."

The knife had not moved any further from Blair while the woman was talking. And Adrian simply looked bored. "I'm sure that's the story you've drawn up over time to console yourself," he sighed. "But I have no interest in hearing it. And one being more hurt than the other? Not even close. You haven't suffered anything like my mother did."

He nodded at Blair. "Isn't it funny? Our positions might have been reversed, had my mother married Harold. Or perhaps you would never have been born." He paused. "But as far as I can see, the only way you've suffered is in having her for a mother." His expression flickered for an odd moment. "Believe me when I say I'm truly sorry about this, Blair." He touched her cheek, lightly. "Because I really did like you. If I could hurt Eleanor in any other way, I would. I'd much prefer to kill her. But that would be too easy."

Blair had already pulled away from his touch. She glared up at him.

"But then why bother?" she demaned quietly. "Why bother going after Bass Industries, pretending to go after me - when you could have just killed me from the beginning?" Eleanor couldn't hide a flinch, at that. Because hearing her own daughter talk about being killed was not something she'd ever wanted to experience.

Adrian tilted his head. "You really have to ask that? You're like me, Blair. You understand. Playing with people is half the fun.

"And," he admitted, "Had you actually slept with me that night, we might be in a different situation now. In all honesty - the only person you have to thank for this is Baizen. Had he not intereferred, things might have played out differently. Perhaps."

"No." Blair shook her head. "They wouldn't."

Montgommery's lip twisted in appreciation as he gazed at her. "You understand the need for vengeance. The thirst for revenge that never goes away." But his voice was bitter.

"Nothing is ever enough," Blair agreed.

"No limits," he said, very softly.

"So you understand that Chuck will destroy you?"

At that, though, Eleanor couldn't help but bristle. "Chuck? Mr Monotgommery, if you lay one finger on my daughter's head, _I _will destroy you."

Adrian just laughed. "You think I care?" He stared at Blair. "Do you think I have that much to live for? I don't have a wife," he pointed out. "Or a child. As you told me yourself. What I do have is revenge. I promised that I would avenege my mother. And it's the only promise I intend to keep. After that?" He just shrugged. "Prison? I did my time growing up. You think those men are any worse than my _father_? And as he's already proved - with the right connections, even the most obvious of murders can be explained away." Because he'd made the evidence for his mother's case as obvious as possible in pointing to Richmond. And it had still done nothing. "I'm a respectable businessman," he shrugged. "Once people get wind of what your mother did to mine; hell, it's one respectable businessman's word against a tarnished woman.

"And your husband, Blair? He's a jealous man. Everyone on the Upper East Side knows that. The Bass family may have money, but the Montgommery have more. And as both of you know, money will get you anything." His voice was calm as he raked a hand through his tawny hair; but he knew the truth. When they came for him after he killed her - he couldn't be bothered to fight. Not any more. He'd have done all that he needed to. He wouldn't even get to court. He'd take those sleeping tablets and fall asleep dreaming of Bree and Harry. And this time, he'd take enough not wake up.

His gaze flickered back to Blair. Once he'd done what he needed to.

He squatted down next to her - and Eleanor was too aware of the blade next to her child's unproteceted throat to even move.

"Mr. Montgommery," she hissed, sharply; and even he could hear the desperate plea underneath it. His mouth jerked in quiet satisfaction. "Let her go. She's done nothing, and you know it. Stop. Now."

The blade pressed closer, and Blair went limp, eyelashes fluttering closed. Adrien let her fall to the floor, aware now that she couldn't run away.

"So easy," he murmured. At least there wouldn't be a struggle any more. He wouldn't have to see those brown eyes looking up at him as he slit her throat.

He sighed, lifting his gaze heavenwards as he prepared the blade. He leaned over her - and a hand suddenly shot out, punching him hard in the groin.

He let out a roar of pain, vision blinding as he rocked backwards, striking out for the girl that had been on the floor in front of him.

And the knife was wrenched, sharply, out of his hand. He tried to get up, but received another sharp kick to the head that almost made him see stars.

Blair stood over him, brown eyes flashing and the blade flashing brighter. Eleanor had cried out in alarm, but Blair ignored her.

She was having none of it.

No more. She was not a pawn. She was Blair Bass.

Even crippled with pain, Adrien couldn't stop the slight flicker of admiration. He struggled to sit up, lunging for her, grasping at her skirt to yank her down again - but she kicked him once more.

And then the door was torn open and all hell broke lose.

"Get the _hell_ away from my wife."

* * *

**A/N Ok, I'm pretty sure I'm now the worst updater ever...I'm so sorry! Au pairing seriously left me with absolutely no time (no exaggeration, I had no time off till the kids went to bed at 10!) and then writers' block struck...anyway, I am so so sorry! All I can offer is this very belated chapter and pray people are still reading? :) And a much more speedy update to follow, I promise! Thank you a hundred times for all your amazing feedback, you're all wonderful :) **


	17. Chapter 17

Carter ignored Blair, heading straight for Adrian and knocking him out with a blow to the head. He pulled a face afterwards - punching really wasn't his style. Even if that particular one _had_ been rather satisfying.

"You're late, Bass," Blair informed Chuck a little shakily - but she was silent as she buried her face in his neck, facade dropping with the knife in her hand. He gripped her tight as his eyes narrowed on the unconcious Adrian.

"Call the doormen," he instructed in a low growl to Carter, but the man was already on the job. He couldn't _wait_ to see Montgommery dragged out of there and put behind bars. Chuck lifted a hand to the back of Blair's neck, chin slotted heavily over her head. "Looks like you had the situation handled without me," he murmred into her as they both glanced down at the body. He fought to keep his breathing even, her frame finally relaxing into his.

Eleanor stared at the two of them entwined. She herself was still shaking, she realised numbly. She stared at her daughter, silent as she clung to her husband - her daughter who had just saved herself without help from anyone. Without help from _her. _

She'd always thought she was raising Blair for the best - to make her as strong possible. She'd raised her to be able to look after herself and depend on no one. Not even her own mother. Cold to be queen.

Eleanor had always known, deep down, that she would throw herself in front of a train for her daughter. If only because no one touched her own flesh and blood. (Certainly, Eleanor was allowed to bully her. But no one else).

Except coming so close to actually losing her - and not being able to even do anything -

"Blair."

She half reached for her, then tried to right herself again. She cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry." The words were stiff and foreign in her voice.

Blair nodded, and Eleanor suddenly gripped her hand. She gazed up at her mother. (Chuck still hadn't released her). For a moment he didn't look like he was going to. His eyes were trained on Eleanor, far more distrusrful than Blair's.

"What happened?"

It was a demand rather than a question - and aimed at his mother in-law alone. He hadn't seen her in a while. (Hadn't wanted to, after the Waldorf Designs fiasco). He'd kept the resentment to himself. A white knight he was not, far too cold to burst out in fits of self-righteous anger - not the way he and Blair worked - and he knew Eleanor well. But he _was_ angry. Far angrier than Blair.

Eleanor's eyes skimmed to Montgommery's unconcious form.

"I didn't know anything about Paul." Her tone was more rigid now. "That young man _was _deluded. I may not always have behaved...honourably, perhaps," her gaze flickered back to her daughter - "But you know I'd never do something so despicable."

Chuck raised an eyebrow.

"Despicable," he sneered. "Like replacing your daughter with a low-life Brooklynite?"

Blair had gone very still. He knew she was asking him what the hell he was doing.

Eleanor paused for a moment too. "I didn't-"

"You did." Blair's voice was flat. "But I told you then, and I'll tell you again - I don't care. I'm not a Waldorf any more, mother. I'm Blair Bass."

"You're still my daughter," Eleanor snapped, almost too quickly. Because she'd just felt a white flash of terror. She couldn't _lose _her. She couldn't have already lost her. Because Montgommery was right. Blair was her biggest - her _only _- legacy.

Blair stopped - and her eyes widened in realisation as she studied her mother. Because she'd seen the fear.

"I know." Slowly, she squeezed her mother's hand back. It had never even occurred to her that Eleanor might _need _her. Was it even possible?

(Yes, she realised, as her mother didn't let go).

"Good," Eleanor sniffed. For heaven's sake, she wasn't about to cry. She wasn't. "Because I love you. Foolish girl." Only she could say those three words so haughtily, prickling with defense.

"I know."

And maybe she had, deep down - sometimes - under all the doubt.

They exchanged slightly watery smiles. (The Waldorf women - _emoting_? With each other? Surely not).

Then Eleanor let out a strangled gasp - and for a crazy second, both Chuck and Blair thought she was _crying_ - before she fell to her knees, uncomprehending, and they saw a blur of tawny hair.

Chuck reacted faster than Blair, who was still staring in confusion at the growing red stain on her mother's chest - he lunged for Montgommery (who was weaponless, anyway, since the once discarded knife was now in Eleanor's back) - and knocked him out again.

Too late.

There were footsteps, and a triumphant Carter led the doormen in - and came to an abrupt, horrified stop as he took in the bleeding woman in front of him.

And still Blair couldn't move.

* * *

**Ok...please don't hate me! I have been agonising over this chapter. I was planning on this happening to Eleanor from the beginning...but when push came to shove, I wasn't sure I could go through with it. I even wrote an alternate ending. BUT I've decided to stick with it. And the next chapter will be up by tomorrow, and will obviously be much longer - please stay tuned! **


	18. Chapter 18

The plate lay smashed on the floor, pieces of the beautiful white wedding china mixed with the congealed and untouched food.

And a huge pair of brown eyes stared at in horror.

"I told you I wasn't hungry."

It was little more than a whimper; and suddenly she was on her knees, snatching for the shards that ripped into her hands, shoulders shaking as she struggled to stop the mess. Her _wedding _china.

"Blair."

His voice was sharp - sharper than the pieces of china, her _wedding _china - but she didn't seem to hear it.

"_Blair." _

He was suddenly across the room, seizing her shoulders and yanking her upwards before she really hurt herself.

"What are you _doing_?"

He knew what she was doing, of course - the question was for her. He held her at arm's length, forcing her face up to him as his other hand reached for hers to assess the cut. And there it was - the first and only tear in weeks blinding her cheek.

She'd snapped.

Finally.

"I said I wasn't _hungry_," she hissed.

Eleanor had given them the china.

Blair had returned it and replaced it with the china she'd actually asked for.

Eleanor had found out, and taken that china back.

_It's a good thing one of us has some taste, dear. _

Eleanor's taste was smashed on the floor.

Numbly, she let Chuck lead her into the bathroom and dress her wound. His grip was firm - too tight and not tight enough. She blinked in surprise as she realised her finger was stinging and there were tears in her eyes; tried to flinch away, but Chuck had her fast.

"It hurts," she whispered at last, and now for some reason she couldn't stop crying.

Chuck held her fast.

"Dr. Sherman," he growled tightly. "Today."

And this time she made no effort to protest.

* * *

"How is she?" Serena murmured.

Chuck just gave her a look. "How do you think?"

He regretted it at his sister's flinch - he hadn't mean to be quite so harsh, perhaps. But this was killing him. The doctor currently in the room with his wife was killing him.

The haze of the funeral and nearly two weeks pretending everything was absolutely fine - and he hated, hated Blair on automatic and her damned bubble - that had been bad enough. And now she'd taken to her room instead. She talked - but only to him. And not much. She was fine, it was just a headache. She was fine, she just wasn't hungry. (She was fine, it was just a nightmare. And when she clung to him in the night, so tight it was the only way either of them could breathe - she was fine in the morning).

Serena bit her lip. "Can't we-"

They were interrupted as the doctor re-emerged. His face was set, mouth a grim line.

"Mr. Bass." He paused, glancing at the blonde - but Chuck nodded brusquely for him to continue. "There's something I need to tell you."

* * *

Serena winced as she entered her best friend's bedroom. Not just because the blinds were drawn, not just at the pale fugure swathed in the silk duvet - but because Blair _laughed. _Or maybe she tried to, but it came out a sob.

"Who was it," she choked, voice hoarse in the darkness, "Who said be careful what you wish for?"

* * *

It seemed Chuck had become accustomed to the eternal twilight of his wife's bedroom. The room here was bland as ever, the walls too bright for his eyes.

"Why aren't you with Blair?"

Bart Bass didn't bother with pleasantries as his son walked in.

Except Chuck just stood there, and Bart took in with brief alarm the boy's haggard face. Christ, he looked more ill than _he _did.

"She's pregnant."

Bart processed this news in silence.

"Congratulations," he said eventually - before repeating, "Then why aren't you with her?"

"She told me to come here." Chuck dropped into a chair. She'd ordered him, and he'd felt too guilty - because he still had his parent, alive - to refuse. He'd be back come evening, and Serena was with her in the meantime. Plus she'd started eating; now that she had to.

"She's not all right."

Chuck shook his head. "No."

They were both silent as the seconds dragged by.

"She loved Eleanor," Chuck muttered at last. He wasn't looking at his father. "For all the horrible things she did to her - she loved her." (L-O-V-E was still spat out in his presence).

Bart exhaled, almost as though he were about to speak; instead, he just watched the boy.

"And she knew Eleanor loved her too."

Bart finally cleared his throat. "Of course she did."

"She told her."

Bart nodded stiffly.

Chuck stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets. He felt like a five year old again.

"I love you."

It was gruff, and he still couldn't look at his father. He waited for the man to laugh, to scoff. To tell him to get out. Tell him it had all been one big joke Chuck was stupid enough to believe.

Instead, there was silence.

"Did you mean it?" Chuck snapped at last - and he finally looked at Bart's imobile face. "Or did they just up your dosage that day?"

Bart's eyes narrowed. "Of course I meant it." He reagrded his son balefully. "But don't come to me with your guilty conscience, Charles. You didn't need to force yourself to come up with the appropriate answer. Go back to your wife - she needs you."

It was Chuck's turn to glare now. (This was ridiculous). "My wife," he spat, "Didn't get a chance at the appropriate answer."

He looked at his father, defiant.

"I need you."

Silence.

"I don't know what to do."

Bart said nothing.

But his eyes, for once, were neither blank nor cold. Chuck wasn't sure what he saw in them; just that he hadn't been lying. Becase his father's brow, creased in thought, was exactly what he needed at that moment.

"A break." A plan, that was what Chuck needed. (His father to sort it all out). Bart cleared his throat. "The doctors have recommended I get some sea air." His voice still curled with a sneer, at that, but he continued. "You and Blair can join me in the Hamptons."

* * *

Chuck almost didn't recognise the girl that attempted to slip past him as he got home. Gone was the stylish dress; gone the elaborate hair. He might have mistaken her for a washed-out maid. But then recognise her he did, and he rounded on her with icy fury.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Jenny opened her mouth, but Chuck had already thrust open the door, unwilling to touch her.

"Out."

Still that stupid mouth gaped, though her eyes were lowered. "Blair-"

Blair heard the livid snarl and the slamming of the front door even from her room.

"I said _out!_"

"Chuck."

He turned to see her on the stairwell - still pale, still in her robe - but out of her room. He strode the steps easily to reach her.

"Where's Serena?" he snapped. "Is she incapable of doing _anything_?"

"I sent her away," Blair retorted with a slight frown. "She was driving me insane. She kept trying to make me tea - spilling it all over me, more like - and attempting to read me my favourite books. I'm not four, and even if I was, I still couldn't stomach her attempts to read French. I convinced her to go fetch me some blue peonies."

Chuck lifted a brow (and not just because Serena actually thought there were _blue_ peonies. In fact, he had a vague memory of Nate returning after several hours, proudly clutching a bluebell - _I TOLD the flower seller they existed_ - when Blair had got rid of him the same way during a scheme).

He studied his wife - because for a moment there, she'd been herself again. She'd been Blair.

"And what did that thing want?" he enquired as he slid his hands around her forearms. He was checking her as he did so, like feeling her would somehow confirm she really was there.

Blair arched her own eyebrows back. "To surrender, believe it or not."

He snorted. "You can't surrender when you're already beaten."

Blair tilted her head in agreement. "Apprently she's bowing out. Now that Damien's skipped town, she's going to Switzerland. Alone." She closed her eyes briefly, and it made her look ten times more exhausted. Chuck tightened his grip unconsciously. "She even apologised."

"And you said?" he pressed, rather hoping she'd torn the pathetic girl to shreds. (If only because then he'd know she really was on the way to becoming herself once more).

Blair glanced up at him with a bitter smile and aching eyes.

"That I told her," she murmured at last, faintly. "There's a price to pay."

* * *

"Did you know," Serena grumbled as she whirled through the door, discarding her shawl to scoop up her daughter, "That there's no such thing as a blue peony?"

The little girl looked up at her blankly. "What's a peeny?"

Serena smiled, feeling slightly better. It wasn't like she was some kind of gardener. There really had been no need for Chuck to send her away with such scorn when she'd returned from her fruitless search.

"That's gratitude for you," she sighed. But she was already dismissing it as she stroked Faith's curls.

She was disrupted from her reverie, however, by an all too familiar voice.

"Gratitude indeed."

She gazed at the man before her in shock, still clutching Faith.

"Carter," she blinked. "What are you doing here?"

His lip curled a little - though for once his eyes held no scorn. (They never could when they were fixed on Serena.) "I'm leaving," he said at last. "England beckons. I just came to say goodbye."

Those big blue eyes widened. "What?" She moved towards him, almost unconcious - "Carter, you can't go to England!"

He smirked. "Why, will you miss me?" (But again, his expression didn't quite match his eyes.)

Serena fretted her lip. "Are you crazy? There's a war!"

"I'm aware," he answered drily. "And war means there's also a lot of desperate people. The black market has never been more popular."

"But it's dangerous!"

"Come on, van der Woodsen," Carter murmured. "Don't pretend you care about me. I'm sure you won't be crying yourself to sleep if a handy bomb rids the world of Carter Baizen once and for all."

Serena stared at him - she looked, for a moment, like she'd been slapped, and his eyes flicked down in savage regret. When he glanced up again, she'd slipped Faith out of her arms, ushering her into the other room, and turned back to him.

"Of course I care about you," she promised. Her voice was gentle as she pressed his hand, eyes glistening. He glanced down at their interlinked fingers, and Serena sighed. "Blair told me," she mumbled. "About the private investigator."

Carter gave a bitter snort.

"Carter," Serena said, even more gently. "I wouldn't have said yes."

He went very still. "Great," he snapped finally. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

He turned away from her hurt expression, closing his eyes. Why _had _he come here?

Because he'd wanted to say goodbye, he knew. Because he was taking himself away from her, once and for all. And he'd been stupid to think it wouldn't hurt.

He turned slowly back to her.

"I'll always care about you," Serena whispered. "But I love Dan."

"I know."

Serena squeezed his hand again. "Do you really have to go?" she pleaded.

"Yes."

His gaze was softer now, though.

"Will you write to me?"

Carter rolled his eyes. "When have I ever bothered with correspondence?"

Serena sighed. "Will you look after yourself, then?"

"I'll try," he relented, this time with a dry half smile.

She glanced at him. "I'll miss you."

"You'll be the only one."

She grinned sadly back. "I don't know. I think Chuck might miss the competition."

"Oh, he'll still have competition," Carter assured her. "I'm still working for Bass Industries. He knows all about this. And I'll be back once I'm bored." He paused. "How's lady Bass?"

The blonde's face clouded as she lifted a shoulder. "She's...surviving." Surviving. Like Blair always did. It didn't mean the pain was any less, she knew.

Carter just nodded.

"Take care of yourself," he murmured eventually. He slid his hand out her grasp with a final glance. "I'll see you, van der Woodsen."

And he was gone.

Sniffing, Serena went to find Faith again. She rested her head on her daughter's, breathing in the familiar milky scent. And though her eyes still pricked with tears - though her thoughts still swam with worry for Blair - she knew she had everything she needed.

* * *

Serena wasn't the only one with a surprise visitor. One of the people that was everything she needed, in fact, did a double take down in the foyer when he saw who was waiting for him.

There was momentary silence as he regarded his sister.

"Hello."

Jenny twisted her hair a little. "Hi."

"What are you doing here?" Dan asked at last. He glanced around the empty hall.

"I figured Serena would be upstairs," Jenny admitted. "And since there's no way she'd let me in..."

"Can you blame her?" Dan interjected, instant.

Jenny lowered her head.

"No."

He asked her what she wanted - but he'd softened, just that little bit. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so low. And he'd never wanted that; he just wanted Jenny back.

"To apolgise," she murmured back.

She could feel his judgement threatening to engulf her. And, at the same time, she'd never been more desperate to have him back. To be his little sister again.

"It's not me you need to apologise to," Dan sighed as he dropped onto one of the benches. She slid in opposite him, still twiddling with her hair.

"I've apologised to Blair."

"And Serena?"

"She won't even speak to me, Dan," Jenny sighed. "How am I meant to apologise?"

Her brother gave her a skeptical look, at that. "You're telling me _Blair Bass_ let you speak to her, and you can't manage Serena?" He frowned, suddenly, as something dawned on him. "Was going to see her at the moment really...appropriate?"

"I had to apologise."

Dan paused. Then he gave a little sigh. "I just don't understand." And he really didn't - there was judgement, but genuine bemusement too as he looked at her. "What were you thinking, Jenny?"

"I don't know," Jenny replied miserably.

She'd been thinking that the price to pay was worth it. That losing the respect of her family - of herself - was worth gaining the respect of the Upper East Side. And now she'd lost both.

Dan ran a hand through his hair.

"How could you go that far?"

"I had to," Jenny whispered. "Or...I thought I did. I wanted to beat them at their own game. I thought I could do it too, and-"

"Whose game?" Dan interrupted. Blair's?"

Jenny lowered her head again.

He sighed. "Look, I may not be Blair's biggest fan - but even she didn't go as far as you did. You pretended you were _pregnant_, Jen. That's not a game." There was a pause. "I mean, what were you planning to do nine months later?" It stil didn't even make sense to him.

Jenny swallowed, hard. "I might've lost the baby," she murmured at last. She closed her eyes as she waited for Dan's horrified lecture.

But there was nothing.

Confused, she glanced up - and realised Dan was just staring at her. It was that look again, beyond appalled or even disgusted. Like he didn't recognise her.

"How could you do that," he finally managed, "After what you knew?" It wasn't that he felt awful for Blair (or, it wasn't just that, strange concept as it was) - it was the fact that his sister was the one doing it to her. Had been going to do it to her. He lowered his voice, a little; almost strangled. "A miscarriage isn't a joke."

"I know that," Jenny insisted, anger thinly layering her desperation. "I -"

But Dan had edged away from her without realising it.

"I can't believe you," he said quietly. "I just...don't even know you any more."

"Dan." Jenny's eyes filled with tears.

"Someone loses a baby," he went on in disbelief, "And you throw it back in her face to make yourself - what? Popular? Famous?"

But Jenny had suddenly frozen. No. It wasn't possible. "Loses - what?" Her voice was hoarse. "Blair?"

Her brother frowned. "Blair? You know she-"

"No," Jenny mumbled. "No, I didn't know." Oh, God.

"Serena said you must have overheard their conversation in the gallery," Dan's frown had deepened. "Didn't you?"

"I overheard their conversation," she repeated, choked; "But I didn't hear that."

Blair and Serena had been talking about Chuck. They'd talked about Blair's relations with him. Not - a baby. Jenny left once she'd got that; it had been more than enough. She'd practically flown home, the affair tucked into a delicious corner of her mind.

A baby.

She got up from her seat, legs shaking a little, and moved away from her brother. Well, there it was. She really was an awful person. She'd been feeling guilty enough about Blair since Eleanor - but now? How could she even live with herself? How had she sunk so low?

She'd always convinced herself that Blair would do the same - do worse - in her position.

She'd been wrong.

She was a bigger bitch than Blair Bass.

"I have to go," she mumbled abruptly. "I have to get out of - this place."

"Wait," Dan was climbing to his own feet. "Wait; you really didn't know?"

But she pulled away from him as she insisted again, "I have to get out of here."

She was now worrying Dan, and this time he managed to brush her arm. "We can go to the loft-"

"No," Jenny said fervently. "I have to get out of New York." She shook her head. "I'm getting the boat to Geneva this evening."

He was staring at her again.

"Gen - _Switzerland_? Jen, you can't leave."

She finally gave up trying to run away, and turned back to him. "I need to." She shook her head. "I need to get out of here," she repeated softly. "I need to - be me, again."

They stared at each other, and Dan's eyes finally widened in realisation.

"Do I have your permission?" Jenny murmured.

He was quiet. "I think we both know you don't need it."

"But I'd like it."

So Dan hugged her, wrapping an arm around her. "You have it," he promised. And for the first time in a long time, they felt something like the Humphreys again.

It was a start.

* * *

The car journey to the Hamptons was long and silent. Blair had started with the usual pleasantries for Bart, again automatic, but the man had brushed her aside and told her she needed to sleep. Chuck didn't think he'd ever seen him so gentle - towards anyone.

So she'd sat in silence, hand in Chuck's as she gazed out of the window. It wasn't Hamptons season any more, the sky already grey with the first traces of autumn and the roads deserted. No doubt the beach would be emptier still. (Blair was grateful). Lily and Eric were considering joining them later, but for now it was just them.

She fell asleep eventually, head slipping onto Chuck's shoulder as he took her warm weight.

Bart's eyes slid to his across the car, across Blair's dark curls.

"She looks like she hasn't eaten in days."

Chuck's arm pressed tighter around her as his jaw tightened too. He could still trace the cut on her finger. "She's eating now."

"She needs to eat more."

Chuck opened his mouth to snap - didn't Bart think he already _knew _that - before he saw that there was genuine concern in the furrow of his father's face.

"I know," he muttered instead. Without looking at the man, he added lowly, "Thank you. For this."

Bart just nodded.

The rest of the journey passed in silence.

* * *

**A/N - Thank you so much for your lovely reviews. I'm very, very glad - and relieved - people didn't hate the last chapter! And hopefully now don't hate that Eleanor is well and truly gone. Lots of Chuck/Blair (and Bart) interaction coming up... **


	19. Chapter 19

Chuck rolled onto his stomach, reaching - again - for a warmth that wasn't there. Her side of the bed was empty, her pillow cold even as her scent lingered on the sheets.

He let out a muffled sigh.

His body was still half asleep as he climbed out of bed, reaching for his shirt. The first morning this had happened, he'd gone downstairs in search of her; now he headed straight for the balcony instead.

The morning air was cool around him as his gaze slid over the railings to land on the beach below.

And sure enough, there she was.

She stood alone by the water's edge, shawl wrapped around her nightdress as she stared at something he couldn't see. He didn't go down to her; just watched her.

She was getting better every day - if the sea air was doing Bart good, it was doing her wonders. She was eating more, the colour back in her cheeks, and she was finally smiling like she used to. Just every now and then.

But still.

But still every morning, without fail, Chuck woke to an empty bed.

And he resisted all his usual instincts and didn't follow her - just watched. Watched, and waited for her to come back up to him.

* * *

"I got a telegraph this morning." Blair spoke into the comfortable silence as she spread jam on her scone; Bart watched his son's gaze zero in on her. He knew she'd seemed distracted by something earlier. "From the Girls' Foundation," she informed them. "They want me back. There's an event tomorrow night in Manhattan."

"And you sent a telegraph in reply telling them where to go?" Chuck enquired, eyes still narrowed. Because he knew damn well she wouldn't have.

Sure enough, Blair frowned. "This is the Girls' Foundation, Chuck."

Chuck instantly opened his mouth to argue - except Bart beat him to it. His tone was almost mild; a tone Chuck had only ever heard him use with Blair.

"Is this the same Girls' Foundation that turned its back on you for no good reason?" He raised an eyebrow as he buttered his own bread, crisply. "Don't you think you should be...making them work a little harder?"

Blair paused.

"You don't make the Girls' Foundation do anything," she started, sweetly - but Chuck cut her off.

"And no one makes _you _do anything."

Bart saw the glance the two of them exchanged.

"I have to go back eventually," she said at last. Her tone was quiet.

"Eventually," Bart agreed. "But you've only been here two weeks. And I gave Arthur a three week holiday, so there's no one to drive you."

Chuck glanced at his father with a smirk; Blair was on the verge of protesting, outraged that they'd teamed up on her (which had been happening far too much these past weeks for her liking) - but something about the slight smile Bart gave his son back made her stop. And she couldn't help it; her heart softened a little.

Damn Chuck.

She rolled her eyes, but not too hard - because, admittedly, she had been dreading that event - and went back to her scone.

And that was when she felt it again.

Her hand fluttered silently to her stomach and she closed her eyes for a moment.

"Excuse me."

She rose to her feet, managing a smile, and fled the room.

Chuck was on his feet in the next moment.

"Leave her," Bart said calmly.

His son's eyes narrowed a little. "With all due respect, father - I know my wife." He went to follow her, jaw set; but Bart stopped him once more.

"You do," he pointed out. "But I know pregnant women."

Chuck paused, and then turned for a moment. "You knew one pregnant woman," he said, softly. "And she wasn't Blair."

And he left.

Bart sighed and got to his own feet.

_Honestly._

* * *

Blair was curled miserably in the laundry room (it was the one place it might not occur to Chuck to look in), wishing with all her heart that the sensation in her stomach would give her half the joy Serena had said it did. Joy instead of the guilt now weighing her down.

A voice cleared, stiffly, in the doorway.

She glanced up, and got the shock of her life when she saw Bart standing there. Hastily, she tried to compose herself.

He was still a little stiff as he seated himself on one of the work surfaces - Blair didn't think he'd ever looked more out of place. Then again, the laundry room was hardly her own natural environment.

"Evelyn," he cleared his throat slightly at the mention of his wife's name (a name Blair had never even heard him utter) - "Never did a day's gardening in her life. We had an argument, once, while she was...carrying Chuck." He cleared his throat again. "It took me all day, and I finally found her in the gardening shed."

There was a silence; and Blair glanced at him with a faint, sad smile.

"She had a heretidary heart condition. Did Chuck tell you that?"

Blair nodded, almost hesitant. Was Bart Bass seriously talking about his wife? To her?

"Her mother had the same condition. She died in childbirth, and Evelyn," - again, the faint pause over her name - "Always felt partially to blame. She would never admit it, but...I think she did."

Blair glanced down at her feet, a wretched lump forming in her throat.

"I miss her," she whispered at last. And she didn't know what was worse - missing her mother, or never even realising she would. "I keep-" her voice caught. "She always told me that when I got married, I had to get up first every morning to make myself presentable." She let out laugh that brought tears to her eyes. "Because no man wants a wife with morning breath." Another shaky laugh; and she exhaled, deeply. "When I first married Chuck, that was exactly what I did, every morning - until he caught me once, and told me not to be so ridiculous."

That brought a faint twitch to Bart's lips. Sounded like his son.

"So I stopped." She shrugged. "Eventually. But...ever since..." She couldn't say it, so she forced herself to carry on. "I keep waking up first, and - and it's the first thing I think of. And I go to get out of bed, and then - and then I remember." She couldn't stop her shoulders from shaking now; couldn't stop the hot tears sliding down her cheeks. Some distant part of her registered that she should definitely not be breaking down like this in front of her father in-law. In front of _Bart Bass_.

She blinked in confusion when she realised he was holding out a handkerchief to her.

Slightly embarrassed, she took it.

"Blair," he said at last. "Both your mother and I...well, neither of us were exactly perfect parents." He moved to straighten his suit. "We both made mistakes in bringing up our children." He didn't wait for her to deny it. "But-" and the words were still hard, still foreign in his throat, but he said them anyway, "But if there's one thing I always knew, and Eleanor did too, it's that we always loved you." He paused again. "And I know for a fact that Eleanor would be proud of you." He got to his feet. "You're going to make a wonderful mother," he added, finally.

He gazed at her for a moment, and then he was gone.

* * *

Blair rolled over onto her side, reaching for a warmth that - wasn't there. She sat up, abruptly, eyes snapping open. What?

She blinked in the dim light of the morning.

Where on earth was her husband?

His side of the bed was empty, only the indent of his head on the pillow to remind her he'd been there. She listened to see if he was in the bathroom - nothing.

Almost indignant, she slid out of bed and into her dressing gown.

Chuck was supposed to _be there_ when she woke up. Always. Even if it was just so that she could kiss him before she slipped out herself.

Feeling a little at a loss, she glanced out of the window. And stopped. Slowly, she moved to the balcony. She could make out a figure on the beach below; and she couldn't stop tha faint smile curving at the corners of her mouth as she tugged her dressing gown closer and turned to head outside too.

She folded her arms once she finally reached him.

"What are you doing here?"

He spared her a glance, and she noticed for the first time the picnic basket he'd spread out.

"Bart's going to the doctor this morning. I thought we could enjoy breakfast alone." His tone was nonchalant; and his arms suddenly slipped around her waist, pulling him to her. Tight.

She gazed up into his eyes, pressed flush against the heat of his chest. Another reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

"I suppose I could allow it."

He was already kissing her, though, cutting off her thought process; and she leaned up into him, burying herself in his warmth.

"By the way," he murmured when they'd finally broken apart and he'd tugged her onto the blanket with him. "I happen to greatly enjoy your breath in the morning."

Her eyes widened for a moment as her gaze shot to his.

They were silent; and she realised then that though he wore a slight smirk, his eyes were serious. Almost soft. She bit her lip, quietly, and he pulled her into his lap.

His chin nestled around her shoulder, jaw hard against the softness of her neck as the two of them gazed out across the waves. Her sigh was barely perceptible as she eased back into his chest.

Still, her thoughts eventually drfited elsewhere as she took in the beach. The sand, the Hamptons, the rush of the sea.

She peeked up at him, and she knew from the look in his eyes that he was remembering the same thing. It felt like so long ago now.

His hand slid over hers - and this time, when the kicking started, she knew he'd felt it too. They gazed at each other. And there were tears in her eyes, but she couldn't stop smiling at the look on his face. Because it was better than joy. A hundred times better.

* * *

"Oh, Serena is a nightmare at the moment," Lily assured the table as they dined. And not even Eric defended his sister; he was nodding, wistfully, in agreement. "I don't think I've ever seen her more hormonal," his mother went on, glancing at Blair. "She started crying when we told her you were coming back tomorrow. She can't wait to see you."

"And she actually got violent when we told her she couldn't come to pick you up," Eric added, almost a grumble.

Chuck and Blair exchanged faint smirks.

But now Bart was wiping his mouth on his napkin to speak. "Actually, there's something I need to tell you too." He glanced at his son, briefly. "I've decided to stay in the Hamptons."

Chuck stared back. "What? What about the sanitorium?"

"I've spoken to my doctor," the man answered evenly. "He agrees that the sea air is just as good for me." There was a slight pause. "And I don't want to spend every day for the rest of my life being looked after."

Silence.

"And," Lily added, "I'll be staying too, of course."

Bart's brow creased a little. "I told you, Lily-"

"And I told you," she retorted. "It's non-negotiable. Besides," she added, "I think a break from the city will do me some good. Those parties are starting to get awfully boring."

Eric couldn't resist a faint snort.

Bart glanced at his son again. "So I'm handing Bass Industries over." Chuck paused. "I know you'll do a good job." And at that, Chuck's jaw dropped a little.

"Me?" He was aware that he was now spluttering like a fool, but even Blair's look couldn't quite bring him back to his senses.

Bart frowned. "Who else would I trust with my company?" Then, as he gazed once more at his son, he corrected, quietly; "Our company." He lifted an eyebrow. "So? What do you say?"

Sensing that her husband had momentarily stepped out of character and lost the ability to speak, Blair answered for him.

"He says yes. Of course."

Her hand gripped his, tight, under the table.

Chuck finally nodded. "Of course."

"Good."

The conversation returned to Serena's antics; but Blair's hand was still in Chuck's as, oblivious to anyone but each other, they exchanged smiles that only they could see.

* * *

Triple Celebration at the Basses Named 'Party of the Year'

In Manhattan's most extravagant party to date, Mr. and Mrs. Bass yesterday celebrated their triplets' fifth birthday - and what a celebration it was! With over fifty different kinds of dessert, an actual circus and forty dollar gift bags for each child, this was definitely the party any self-respecting trust fund brat needed to be at. Blair Bass was beautiful as ever, even after a day spent petting animals with her children - and reportedly Chuck Bass himself had no qualms about wrinkling his suit to crawl on the floor with them. (Though one has to admit that another hundred dollar suit is hardly a loss to him). Eleanor, Evelyn and Nathaniel Bass are easily the UES's best-dressed children on any given day, and their party was no exception.

The guest list was obviously highly selective - and of course Serena Humphrey and husband, plus her gorgeous children Faith and Lucas Humphrey, were number one that list. Despite being Nathaniel's best friend, Lucas did spend rather a lot of time dancing with Evelyn and Eleanor - one supsects, much to their parents' delight. This writer can already hear the wedding bells...

* * *

**A/N - I am so, so sorry it's taken me so long to finish this fic - but finally, it's done! Thank you so much for following the story, and for all your lovely reviews. I hope you all enjoyed the ending! :) **


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